


The Chaos Design

by caffeinatedmusing



Series: The Care and Feeding of Vampires [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Addiction, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Monsters, Murder Mystery, Team as Family, Witcher Contracts, Withdrawal, assorted residents of Beauclair, blood bonds, original vampire characters - Freeform, vampire pack dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 34,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedmusing/pseuds/caffeinatedmusing
Summary: Higher vampires prefer to remain a mystery to the world. But when one of their communities is decimated by attacks from an unknown source, Regis and Geralt take on the case. But Regis has his own demons to wrestle with. And a witcher is one of the most unwelcome sights among vampires. They will need to rely on one another as never before if they are to survive what they encounter, much less prevail.





	1. Chapter 1

_Got a contract. Back in a few days._

_-Geralt_

Regis folded the slip of paper at first, and then, after frowning at the neat square of it between his fingers, he crumpled it instead, tossed it into the waste bin. He sighed. The witcher had been gone several days already, by the look of the unslept-in bed and way his scent had faded from the house in his absence. _Their_ scent had faded.

The vampire chewed his lip a bit, considering his options. Then he began packing up the few scant things he’d left in the room and quietly slipped out, heading back to his cemetery camp. He could not stay here when Geralt was away. He knew the witcher would insist but it quite simply wasn’t safe. For them.

He had come back ready to talk, to confess everything. How he felt about the man, how much it meant to him that the witcher had placed himself in a position of such trust and truth be told, of support, which Regis was ready to admit he sorely needed, despite the dangers for them both.

The weeks he had spent essentially living at Corvo Bianco had been some of the happiest days he’d known in a long while. They’d gathered herbs from the gardens and fields, worked on potions and a few alcoholic brews in that fantastic lab Geralt had discovered in the basement. They’d gone for moonlit walks down by the river. Read books and sipped wine out on the porch in comfortable silence. Spent entire days in bed, fucking and philosophizing, talking and laughing, together. 

He had recognized it for the distraction effort it was and been grateful to Geralt for understanding enough to offer him that. He had known it couldn’t last; even knowing, he hadn’t been at all prepared. They’d been tangled up in Geralt’s bed, all breath and sweat and fervently whispered pleas and curses as the rhythm built between them, faster and faster, and…

Geralt had thrown his head back, giving Regis a mouthwatering view of his throat, pulse hammering, right there…

And the blood thirst had hit Regis so hard that it tumbled him right into climax, he’d bitten his own forearm, a choked off scream of pain, denial, rage, horror, and ecstasy all twisted up into something inhuman. It was. Needless to say, he’d startled Geralt. Badly. 

He’d rolled away from the witcher fast, out of bed, grabbed his clothes and run to the washbasin to rinse out his mouth, shaking and cold, horror over what had just happened twisting up his stomach. Disgust at himself. And the bloodlust was still there, clamoring.

Later, when he’d calmed down enough to talk, he and Geralt had had a difficult conversation out on the porch. Geralt had made sure to stand downwind, keeping his scent away. It was a small courtesy, one that only a professional witcher, or possibly another vampire, would have thought to do. 

_“I need some time. I’m afraid of what I may do if I stay. I cannot risk this hunger with you.”_

_“If it’s a choice between you biting me or some random citizen, I’d prefer you came after me. I stand a better chance of surviving.” He’d offered himself. Of course he had._

_It added to Regis’ heartbreak._

_“Never say that again!” His nails had bitten deep into the wood of the porch railing. “I just…I need some time, Geralt.”_

Geralt had stood silent, leaning back against the railing, arms crossed. He had nodded. Sad and stoic. Understanding. Patient. Everything Regis did not deserve.

Regis’ addiction was a thing of nightmares and cold sweat, white knuckled cravings and heart wrenching shame. No one else could fight it for him. He could not, would not, use his beloved witcher as a crutch. Nor would he dare risk hurting him. So he had left to try it again on his own.

And he had failed. Again. 

Lifting a hand, he smeared away at his cheek before the tear could make the rest of the way down the side of his nose. He noticed a rust dark stain on his cuff. Just a drop. A little thing, such a tiny thing. 

But it condemned him all the same.

_Monster._


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt stood in the doorway. Flakes of snow drifted down to land, soft and shy, on his hair and shoulders, before vanishing. This high up in the mountains, it wasn’t unusual to see it snow even while summer bloomed in the lower valleys.

The cold suited him. He felt it settle inside him, staring at the stale rust colored splotches where blood had dripped to soak into the rough-hewn gray of the floor. A family, dead to the last child. 

He knew what he did not want to. His mind made the connections, piecing together and cataloguing the evidence; _punctures in the neck, blood drained, no sign of forced entry_ , even as some internal voice screamed _no, it can’t be._

Higher vampire.

And just where had Regis disappeared to, after he had told Geralt he needed some time to clear his head?

… _He wouldn’t. No. Not the kids._ Even though he knew from peeking in Regis’ journals, that yes, in point of fact, he would. He had.

The residents of a village he had passed through yesterday had given him a pretty clear description. 

Fists clenched, the witcher turned and made a complete circuit of the property, checking the out buildings. Force of habit. Livestock gone. He found them dead in the lower pasture. A farmhand in the hay, similarly drained. 

_Igni._ He set fire to everything. Burned away the bodies and all the evidence along with it. 

Shoulders stooped, he led Roach away. Three days ride back to Beauclair, sunshine, and warm weather. Three days to decide what to say. 

And what he was going to do.


	3. Chapter 3

_That wasn’t smoke…_ On his approach, the witcher spotted a smudge of motion rising up from the vicinity of Regis’ mausoleum abode. It was gone as soon as he focused on it.

When Geralt found him, Regis knelt in the wreckage of his belongings, face buried in his hands. Though he faced away from the witcher, Geralt had no doubt the vampire was aware of him. From the faint but massive silhouette offered by the dying flicker of embers knocked to the floor, Regis had changed form. Wings shifted as he got closer, throwing darker shadows across the debris strewn space.

“Regis?” Better to make sure; he did not want to fight if it turned out he was intruding, unwanted. “What happened? Everything alright?”

Large ears swiveled in the direction of his voice. A hissing sigh. The wings slumped inward, curling close. Geralt watched as the scrapes and scratches on the backs of the clawed hands healed as if they had never been. 

“Just… redecorating. I seem to have gotten a bit carried away.” An attempt at self -deprecating humor; the words were sibilant and odd, the fang filled muzzle of the vampire’s bat form poorly suited to human speech. Geralt was relieved to find he understood it at all. 

“Sure about that? I thought I saw…” 

“Leave it be, please.”

“Regis, we need to talk.”

An uncomfortable sound, and a moment later the higher vampire had resumed his humanish form. Getting to his feet, he tucked something away into his gambeson, brushed himself off, and turned to face Geralt.

“Yes. That we do.”

An awkward moment of hesitant silence passed before;

“How was your contract?”

“Will you tell me where you went?”

They spoke over one another.

“…”

Geralt cleared his throat and tried again.

“I need to know where you went after you left.”

Regis studied him. “Why do I feel as though you are asking me that as a prelude to an interrogation, as opposed to expressing a genuine interest?”

The witchers face was devoid of expression.

“It’s just a question, Regis. How do want me to ask it?”

“As if I am not some stranger, for a start! I will tell you, of course. Just, please, look at me, Geralt?”

Gold cat slit eyes slid away before coming back to meet his and Regis had his answer.

“Your contract…it’s on a higher vampire, isn’t it? I was afraid it might be.”

The witcher sighed and nodded. “Yeah. So, I need to know where you were.”

“Well, this is all gone terribly awkward.” Regis turned about and began making a show of straightening up. It was a vain effort but he found he needed to move or do something or go mad. 

“I wanted, foremost, to get away from people.” He began, “I flew up into the mountains east of here. I was hoping to find a cave, or an abandoned building. Someplace I could find solitude. I thought I had found it; but in my exploring to collect and catalogue the area lichens in the hope of distracting myself with some new medicinal research, I stumbled across a farm.” 

“About a week and half north and east of here? Larger village down the road, has an alderman. Got a busted down lumber mill on the outskirts?”

“Yes. That is the one. Ah, Geralt. I am so sorry. I failed. And I did so knowing it might result in your being contracted. Still, I felt my choice was better than the alternative.” 

“ _Better than the alternative?!_ For fucks sake, Regis, you took out an entire farm hold! What the fucks your alternative? Going Orianna’s route and _only_ preying on children?!”

Regis froze, black eyes wide. “No! I did no such thing. Geralt, I will admit that in my past, I have done…. horrific things. Unforgivable things that included preying on children. Babies, even. But those days are behind me. I swear to you, I did not kill these.”

Geralt moved then, sudden and silent; grabbing the vampires collar and slamming him up and back against a stone column. Regis did not resist. The witcher’s face was a thunderstorm. Mortar dust drifted down over them, so forceful was the impact. It would have cracked the ribs and driven the breath from a lesser man.

“You swear? Because I have a dead family of a seven including the children and two farmhands drained of all blood that says differently. You were seen.”

“The sheep. In the lower pasture. That was all I took. I promise you. Geralt….if I were that far gone, I would have tried to get farther away so as to leave you out of it. And…I would not have stopped. I certainly would not have dared to return.”

Geralt relaxed his grip, tipping the vampires face so he could look him directly in the eye, gauging. Regis gently rested a hand on the witcher’s arm. He felt the instant Geralt relaxed, accepted what he’d said.

“I meant what I said, all those years ago. There isn’t enough money in the world to make me accept a contract on you. When I thought that it might have happened anyway….”

Regis tightened his grip on Geralt’s arm. “I am so sorry. I am ashamed of the things I do when I get like this. I fear what it will do to you this time more than I fear any other consequence. I came back because I wanted to tell you that you were right when you said I needed help. I almost did go after the farmhands, you know. Sleeping alone in the barn like that…but I thought of you and I couldn’t go through with it. The animals, I thought, you would at least find forgivable.”

“Animals, yeah. I can live with that. Just, maybe don’t take them from farms anymore. I get enough weird contracts as it is.”

“Already ahead of you on that count, Geralt. And I have written to someone who helped me once before…they may have better advice.”

“Any idea who might have finished what you started?”

“I did not sense anyone else nearby. Which is telling, in itself. But please, Geralt, let me handle it. You are drawing far too much negative attention from the vampire community here as it is.”

“I told the alderman that the creature responsible had moved on. I searched, didn’t see any other signs besides yours. I burned all of it.”

“You…did?” Regis’ black eyes stung with something suspiciously like tears at the idea that his witcher had destroyed evidence to protect him. “Please, promise me you won’t do that again.”

“Gladly. If you promise the same.”

“…I..am trying my best, Geralt. I promise you that.”

“Deal. So… if vampires can drink animal blood…?”

“Why do we bother with you mortals? Quite simply put, it tastes terrible. Watered down, if you will. And the effect is…well, weak. Then again, if I like what I’m drinking, I’ll only do it more, so animal blood when I could no longer remain sober seemed the obvious choice.” 

“Feeling any better on that front?”

“Yes. No.” Regis frowned. “Maybe. It seems to have taken the edge off a bit. I don’t know for how long. It is courting disaster, either way.”

“I hear you. You just worried me, is all.”

And then Regis was being pushed back against the column again until he had Geralt’s tongue in his mouth and his hands in that silky silver- white hair. For a delirious, perfect moment, it was as if nothing had ever gone wrong between them in the first place. Until he wanted to sink his fangs into that thick pliant muscle, to taste the hot sweet sting of Geralt’s blood flooding his mouth. He pulled away, setting his hands against Geralt’s shoulders and gently pushing the witcher back away from him. 

“Sorry. You alright?”

Regis took a deep breath, held it longer than human would have been able to, and let it out in a slow rush.

“I am afraid I am not as steady as I’d like to be. It is never due to anything you have done. But if it is all the same to you, I think, if we have cleared things up between us, then it might be best if you left. As you can see, I have some tidying up to do.”

“You sure you don’t want help?” At the vampires shooing gesture, he relented and turned to leave. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Before I forget, Marlene wanted me to tell you that she’s making those crepes with mushrooms and crème sauce for dinner tonight, if you wanted to stop by later.”

Regis’ first instinct was to decline. He didn’t feel quite up to socializing. But his stomach growled at the mention of food. Over his centuries, he had eaten quite a lot of tavern food from all sorts of places, as well as plenty of his own cooking, he had dined with royalty, and known the sort of ravenous hunger that only hit after a regeneration. But it was Marlene’s cooking that had spoiled him for regular meals. He changed his mind and agreed to come by later.

As soon as Geralt was gone, he read the letter he’d been hiding. A request to speak. He got cleaned up and went into the city to find out what Orianna wanted.

 

_A small dark furred bat flitted down through a hole in the roof to alight on one of the tombs. The petite bruxa shifted into her human appearance; long dark hair, brown skin, and large, liquid black eyes._

_“Emiel! Have you lost your mind?”_

_Regis dropped the tonic he had been brewing. The glass tinkled almost musically before it was crunched under foot as he strode to meet his uninvited guest._

_“Sabine.” He spoke her name as if it might leave an unpleasant taste. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”_

_“Oh, shut up. You’re not happy to see me and we both know it. Orianna told me you were here. She asked me to give you this.” A scroll tied with a ribbon was tossed out. Regis, failing to catch it, stooped to pick it up._

_“If that will be all….?” He gestured towards the door, indicating that he would walk her out._

_“No. That will not be all. I haven’t seen you in centuries and then I land in Beauclair to visit friends and what do I hear but outrageous rumors about you fucking some witcher and fighting against our people? It’s all true isn’t it! I flew over his place today; your scent is there. Do you hate what you are so much? What we are?”_

_“We are not having this conversation!” Regis’ voice lowered. “And you need to leave Beauclair. After your disgusting little stunt with that village, it won’t be long before he gets word of it. All those people…”_

_“All those people? What, were they your friends, too? The world won’t miss them and there are hundreds of villages exactly like it. Stop acting like I’ve thrown the galaxy out of balance. You’d feel better if you did it, too, once in a while. Look at you, your hands are shaking.”_

_“Get out!” He began to shift forms, anger breaking his control._

_“Wait, did you mesmerize him? That’s it, isn’t it? That’s how you stay here so close to his territory without him coming after you. I’ll have to try that sometime…unless you’d be willing to share? I must admit, I’m curious as to what witcher tastes like.”_

_“No, Sabine.” Regis ground his teeth in an elongated muzzle. “You need to leave. He will figure you out before too much longer. And I won’t stand in his way.”_

_“You would choose that over your own blood?!” Her black eyes, their mother’s eyes, so like his, widened in outrage. “What’s he done, pulled your fangs? The big brother I remember would have drained him and left him for dead by now, witcher or no.” She twisted her face into a pout. “Mother will never believe this. You’re still not speaking to her, I take it?”_

_“Leave!” Regis spun and lunged, swiping with his claws._

_Sabine hissed and shifted as she hopped back out of reach. Dodging her sibling around a column, she pounced on the stack of books he had been sorting and sliced them with her claws before he caught up to her. The two screeched and spit, hissed and slashed, shoving and scuffling as they fought. Glass broke, books went up in flames as a brazier of hot coals was upset. Claws scored stone and tufts of fur went flying. The fight ended when Regis caught her under the chin and lifted her clear of the floor before tossing her back several paces. She hunched down, indicating surrender._

_He backed off and she rose, a bit unsteady. She sighed and regained human form, smoothing her hair. “Emiel, I don’t understand what you’re doing here, but please, be careful. We are all worried about you.”_

_“Farewell, brother.” She shifted back into bat form and left the way she had arrived._

_“Farewell.” Regis muttered to the shadows. Confusion reigned. How long had Sabine been in town? His accusation about the village had been a guess, but she had not denied it. He hadn’t realized Orianna even knew his half sister. Of course, he should have. Sabine was an artist. That and being a higher vampire, would have been more than enough to draw her into Orianna’s social circle. He would have to keep an eye on those two. If they were going to make mischief or a habit of ganging up on him, he would need to have a plan to deal with it._

_He vented the rest of his anger on a nearby column, claws raking deep furrows across the stone. Spent, he sank to his knees. Which was where he was when the faint but familiar tread of the witcher approached._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regis needed some relatives, so I invented some for him. Sibling rivalry has to be much more intense for vampires. I have all kinds of hcs abt his parents....I don't know if I'll be able to work them into this fic or not.


	4. Chapter 4

Regis paused just outside the door to Orianna’s parlor. Music, lilting and clear, could be heard from within. The woman was scheming something; of that much he was certain from the tone of her invitation. He was not too sure of his welcome, after how he had left the last time.

“Oh, Regis, don’t be such a goose. You’re lurking. It’s unbecoming.” Orianna did not look up from her harp strings. Not that she needed to see what she was doing; centuries devoted to practice had that affect. The music flowed from the sure, graceful motions of her fingers, until they ended and she shifted around to face him. 

“Forgive me, my dear, I was merely listening to you play and did not wish to interrupt.”

“Liar.” The redhead raised an eyebrow at him, smirking at his discomfiture.

Regis huffed out a sigh. 

“I suppose…I do owe you an apology. For leaving your prior festivities so shortly and without any proper farewell. It was kind of you to invite me. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stay.” The words felt dry and flat in Regis’ mouth. False.

“It was disappointing, but I made appropriate excuses for your absence. You are forgiven, as always. But I don’t see why you still fight our nature so much. And you missed so many dear friends. We hardly ever see you anymore. I do hope that witcher is worth the worry you’ve caused us.”

“I have offered my apologies. I can do no more. And you know as well as I do; it is better for us all that I continue to fight my nature.” Regis did what he could to ignore her last teasing comment. _He is, and was, so very worth it._

“Ah, Regis. You used to be so much more fun to tease. But I digress. I didn’t call you here to criticize your choices, although, as your friend, you know my opinions on that count. I called you here because I was tasked with providing you a place from which to depart. You’ve been summoned.”

Regis felt cold as realization hit. He stared for longer than Orianna expected him to.

“Well? Is there a problem?”

“…No, my dear friend. Of course not. I am merely wondering what to make of this development?”

“You’ll know soon enough. Though, if I were you, I might have had the good sense not to get involved with a witcher.”

“I have no doubt.. Still…. why?”

“That is not for me to answer. Or care about. But if I were you, I wouldn’t waste any time. The Unseen isn’t known for leniency.”

“His leniency is not my concern. What he means to do with Geralt, if anything, is.”

“Regis, I’m not his secretary. Be a dear and leave me out of it. I have an interview with a promising young sculptor later and I would hate to be… _interrupted_.” Orianna went back to her harp.

The gentle melody clashed with the anxiety that rose in his chest until it blended with the psychic pull of another, vastly more powerful, being. Regis squeezed his eyes closed, misted, and followed that pull to his destination.


	5. Chapter 5

He arrived back at the vineyard by evening. Ruddy sunlight stained the buildings and long shadows stretched across the courtyard. 

Geralt was out by the stable, holding the reins and observing the work of the farrier as she checked and replaced Roach’s shoes. The horse snorted as the vampire approached and shifted around some but otherwise gave no sign that his presence was a problem. Regis relaxed. Geralt would never give him a way, but if Roach stayed calm as well, there was little to no chance of the woman noticing anything odd about him either. 

The wind shifted and brought her scent past him, the odor of hot metal accentuating the vital whiff of the iron rich blood in her veins. Regis’ mouth watered. Swallowing hard, he shifted out of the wind to stand on Geralt’s other side. It put the setting sun in his eyes, but that was the preferable discomfort of the two.

“New shoes?” He started off with an obvious, and therefore, most harmless topic.

“We’ve been over some rough terrain the last few weeks; figured it was time.”

The farrier didn’t look up from where she was picking debris out of the hoof gripped between her thighs before clipping and filing everything clean. Her work roughened hands were as fast and sure around the horse, the hammer, and the anvil, as Orianna’s had been on her harp strings. _How did humans manage to accumulate talent in their short life spans?_ He and Geralt watched her work for a time in silence.

After the last shoe was fitted, the farrier packed up her cart, Geralt paid, and she headed on her way.

“What did Orianna want?” Geralt asked, checking with a backward glance to make sure everyone was out of earshot as he led Roach back into her stable and got her some oats.

“It would be best if I explained later. There is quite a long history to this issue that you are not aware of. The short version is that I have been ordered to check on something; although I have some serious concerns about why. And who.”

“Aw, come on, Regis. Have you been taking lessons from Yen on how to avoid answering questions?” But he did slide the stable door shut and they headed towards the house.

“Very well. I shall endeavor to elaborate. I was summoned. You recall my telling you that Beauclair was the first land we saw when we arrived?”

Geralt nodded, so Regis continued.

“There is a very old, reclusive vampire living here. We call him the Unseen or Unseen Elder. Beauclair is his territory. All vampires pay him fealty when they are here. I… he has ordered me to investigate something, and it has me apprehensive, to say the least.”

“Top secret vampire business?” Geralt tried to joke but Regis could see the distrust in the set of his shoulders and the way those gold cat eyes narrowed. “This isn’t to do with me or the situation with Dettlaff? I guess what I’m asking is if you’re in some kind of trouble?”

“Part of it may be that he wants me away for a bit. There are rumors about us. Nothing is forbidden in our culture, but if we do not like a decision, then we can make it damned difficult for the one doing it.”

“As for the Unseen; if he was cross with me…. I suspect I would not have made it back. Elders aren’t the most involved beings; they don’t care about mortals or witchers. They are not in the habit of interfering in vampire business unless it affects us all. When they do, it tends to be lethal. I am worried, because the nature of this sounds as if it might have the potential to affect us all, if it’s true. That is what he desires me to ascertain.”

“Which is?”

They passed through the front hall into the dining room. Regis plucked a pear out of a bowl and cleaned it against his sleeve before using one elongated claw to slice it with surprising delicacy. He offered some to Geralt who munched on it while he waited for the vampire to gather his thoughts.

“There is… for simplicity’s sake, I will call it a town.” Regis began, in between bites of fruit. “It is one of the oldest we have outside Beauclair and it is exclusively inhabited by vampires. You would not have heard of it, I am sure.”

“Given what I’ve seen about how well some of you blend in, I’m not sure I would notice straight away.”

“You could not find it. The entrances are protected the way the door at Tesham Mutna is protected.”

“Hm. Vampire magic.” Geralt nodded, more to himself than in response to the story.

“Just so.” Regis paused to pop another pear slice into his mouth.

Barnabas -Basil interrupted briefly to inform them that dinner would be on the table within the hour. It seemed to jar Regis back into silence for a time; he chewed, sliced more pear, and stared at the floor, apparently lost in thought.

“So?” Geralt prompted. 

“Tales have reached him of something there that is killing vampires. They are calling it a massacre.” The blunt response bothered Geralt more than the prolonged silences had. “I am to ascertain if these tales are true. And if so, determine what or who is responsible as well as render any aid that I can in seeing it stopped.”

“You said only another higher vampire could...”

“Yes. So…either we have a rogue on our hands the likes of which no one here in this world has ever had to deal with before, or…we have something else.”

“I’m going with you.” 

“Absolutely not! These are no humans you would be staying among, but vampires, every last one. They would show you no welcome. You would be witness to behaviors, ways of life among our kind, something no outsider has ever seen. A perceived threat to them and no way to disguise it. You would be attacked. I cannot allow you to take such a risk.”

“Regis, I appreciate your concern but this sounds like a contract. I trust you, but if this thing is taking out vampires, then it can take out everyone else besides. Witchers need to know about it.”

“I could write my findings…”

“You know that would take too long. And if something happened to you…No. I need to be there. Only way this makes sense. You helped me against Vilgefortz. Let me help you, here.”

“That was never a debt, Geralt!”

“I know. I didn’t mean it like that. Hell, Regis, I don’t like the idea of you going alone. And it sounds as if I could help, so I want to.”

“…. It is unwise.”

“I’ll make plenty of extra Black Blood and blade oils to protect against vampires, if it makes you feel any better?”

Regis actually chuckled. “It will be uncommonly rude of me to have brought in a mortal no one can drink from without being poisoned, but yes, I would feel a bit better. Outside of myself, no one will defend you. And you are already aware of our ban on killing each other. This will be….difficult. But, truth be told, I am grateful. I was not looking forward to going alone.”

“I noticed.”

After dinner, Regis found himself loathe to leave. He and Geralt hiked up the hill above the olive groves and sat together in the grass, watching the moon rise. Crickets chirruped in the fields around them and the scent of wildflowers drifted on the cooling breeze.

Geralt worked his fingers into the tight spots along Regis’ neck and shoulders until the vampire’s shape was beginning to blur a bit at the edges; his eyes drifting closed. 

A guttural screech echoed from somewhere off in the wooded copse to the east, near the ill-fated Count De la Croix’s mill, jolted them both to alert. 

“What was that?” 

“Not sure. Might’ve been a water hag.” 

“While we’re on the subject of monsters…. I wanted to ask what you plan to do should I lose control? Again.”

“Regis….” Geralt’s heavy sigh ruffled the ends of Regis’ hair and sent a shiver down his neck.

“No. You need to know ahead of time so that you have a plan.” He reached over to where his satchel lay in the grass and withdrew something which he pressed into Geralt’s broad calloused palms.

The witcher turned the shackles over in his hands, the weight cold and heavier than they had any right to be. 

“I managed to find someone who was willing to part with these. They are of the same metal as the cage in Tesham Mutna. Which….”

“Hell, no!”

“I expected you to say that. Please understand, I am merely giving you the best options available.” He waited until Geralt reluctantly secured the cuffs on his belt before he settled back against the witcher again. “Better you have them and not need them, than need them and not have, as that saying goes.”

“And I still think we need a safe word.”

A weak smile touched the vampire’s lips, more tired than amused as the witcher hands resumed their rubbing. 

“I know you do. Although, I do find myself curious as to what your experience is with such things?”

“Hm. Could tell you. Or…I could show you.” 

“Hmm. Could you, now?” At Regis’ throaty purr of challenge, Geralt’s hand slid up from his shoulder to wrap around his throat just under the chin, wrenching the vampire’s head to one side, before the witcher leaned in and pressed surprisingly soft open- mouthed kisses to Regis’ exposed neck.

Caught a startling role reversal of a common biting position, in the vise- like grip of a witcher, no less, Regis gasped. He arched into Geralt’s grip, trying to give him a better angle, and was rewarded with the scrape of the witcher’s teeth, those sharp little points of his canines nipping in reprimand. Not even close to bite, but close enough. The sudden fantasy of being helpless beneath another's teeth, Geralt’s, who he trusted with his life, sent a feverish wave of lust surging through him. _The feel of those teeth sinking though tender skin, the taste of my blood on his lips_ … His eyes dilated full black, claws lengthening. His senses increased, homing in on the push and rush of Geralt’s blood pumping fast in his veins, wondering how much it would take to break the witcher’s grip on him, _throw him down and_ …

Regis lunged to get away. Geralt felt him tense and let go. They stood staring at one another from a few paces off; panting, aroused, and now both afraid of each other.

“I didn’t mean to push you.”

“Forgive me.” Regis whispered, misery etched deep into the lines of his face, “I fear I must turn you down. In fact, I think it would be best if we… quit altogether.”

He clenched his fists to keep Geralt from seeing how badly he was shaking.

Geralt blinked. “Is there something about me that makes it worse? It seems to happen more when we’re…ah…close.”

“Yes.” Regis swallowed the urge to cry. “I am at a loss to explain it. There is no reason I know of that I should crave your blood more than anyone else’s.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or horrified. I won’t interfere with your recovery, so I guess that’s the end. I’m sorry, Regis, it was good while it lasted. Still going with you, though. Meet at the foot of Mount Crane tomorrow?”

Regis nodded, numb and at a loss for words. He collected his satchel and headed back to Mere Lachaiselongue. Alone. 

Geralt stood on the hill and watched him leave before he walked back to the house. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vampire headcanon: since they are shapeshifters, some concentration is needed to maintain a particular appearance. While Regis is pretty accustomed to looking human at this point in his life, who knows what his prefered form might be. So if a vampire feels happy, safe, and relaxed, they might start to slip out of whatever form they had assumed and into whatever is most natural for them. Sort of like a cat purring.
> 
> I also thing this story is getting really dialogue heavy. I'll try to balance it out for future chptrs. Anyway, I need to get writing. I have a lot done, but its all out of order, plis it needs to be edited, and there isn't anything directly after this so....please stand by.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

They met up on the road at dusk; the western horizon glowed with coal-warm light, fast fading into star strewn indigo overhead. Cool mists rose from the surrounding fields along with the calls of nightjars as they hunted insects at the edge of the woods. The horses snorted and stamped, tossing their manes. The fresh air made them restive and they had miles to go before dawn. Geralt reached down and patted Roach’s neck absently. It was a perfect evening for traveling.

Regis had found a small underfed mare for very little gold on an outlying farm. After expressing disappointment on there not being any mules available, he had settled and named her something in Vampiric that Geralt couldn’t pronounce. He said it meant ‘fearsome’ or some such thing. They set off riding, following the little used road to the east and south toward the mountain passes.

Geralt wondered that Regis chose to keep pace with him. The vampire had much faster means of travel. It might have been more efficient had he gone on ahead to get set up. And much less awkward. But there seemed a need for nostalgia in his fanged companion and the weather was holding, so Geralt allowed Regis to set the pace without question. 

Until it became apparent that the vampire was, in fact, stalling: frequent rests, later starts in the evening, earlier calls to camp. Once, he ‘lost’ his satchel and they had to ride back half a day looking for it. 

“Regis, what gives?” Geralt finally challenged. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t want to go at all.”

“I’m afraid that the truth is…” Regis pressed his lips together, expression uncharacteristically anxious, “that I don’t.”

“Well, then what the hell are we doing?!”

“It is seldom so simple and you know it. I am… _ordered_ to do this, for lack of a better term. I am not eager.”

“Do you plan on sharing what it is about this place that has you so on edge?”

“Aside from the very real danger to your person, you mean? I am hesitant about the whole affair, most especially in my present state. I suppose I should mention, as well, as we are like to run into them, that I have… family there. Assuming they haven’t moved on.”

Geralts brows shot up. “Family? Didn’t know you had one.”

“Yes. With good reason. Please leave it at that for now. And, Geralt, whatever happens; promise me you won’t interfere with anything you see there. You will only get yourself killed.”

“I don’t like it, Regis, but…” Geralt heaved a sigh, “I promise.”

“Thank you. Now then, Icorime; for that is its name. Almost the whole of it is subterranean. There is a tiny village close by which has no name; a human settlement. Even vampires need to trade for supplies, after all. That is where we will be staying.”

They rode on, in the days to come, at a quicker pace. Regis explained bits and pieces of vampire culture and home life. Geralt nodded and listened. He was learning more about higher vampires in this trip than in all the years of witcher training and the conversation helped to ease some of the awkwardness and pain between them.

About a week out from Beauclair, ascending into the foothills, they came upon an overgrown track running between stone property markers up to the ruins of a mansion. Overgrown hedges surrounded the remains of a three-story building and several smaller out buildings. With the dawn only a few hours off, they rode up to explore in the hopes it might make a good spot to camp. 

The moonlight faded away in a strange veil of mist. The horses shied at nothing. The sounds of crickets failed and their voices fell oddly flat in the thickening fog. Off in the distance, a greenish flicker showed here and there and then vanished again.

“Geralt? Something is amiss.”

“I know. This fog isn’t natural. Did you see that light?”

“Yes. Can you tell what is causing it?”

“Not yet. Think we should skip it or have a look around?”

“Let us have a look around, shall we? I can think of no better spot to camp unless we continue almost half a day to the river. Here, they have a well, and buildings for shelter in case it rains. Besides, what could possibly be threat to us?”

“Fine. Let’s go see what’s here and if it can be convinced to share or leave.”

They tied off the horses, keeping things loose so that the animals could pull away and run if need be. As they wandered the grounds they watched for signs of what was going on. 

Half a century might have passed since the last inhabitants had left. The buildings were no longer livable; roofs collapsed, broken glass crunched underfoot, weeds grew waist high or higher in places. Saplings had sprouted up through the floorboards.

“There were four, maybe five people living in this house.” Geralt gazed around, seeing things Regis could not. “Husband, wife, two or three kids.”

“That middle building there appears to have been the servant’s quarters.” Regis prompted. An illicit little thrill at watching Geralt work ran up his spine. He enjoyed this; the investigating, the clues, finding the trail and solving the mystery. He could see the appeal in some of the contracts Geralt took. _Perhaps I should have become a detective._

“Stable was over there.” The witcher pointed. “Carriage house. Probably a vegetable garden out back on the way to the privy. Kids had a swing tied to that branch.” He indicated an immense old oak on the edge of the property. “Nice place.”

“Indeed. So, what is the matter with it?”

“I don’t hear or smell anything unusual, do you?” Geralt turned his head to look past Regis’ shoulder. “That light was just back.”

Regis glanced as he sniffed the air. 

“No. Nothing.” He paused. Then, “Are those tombstones?”

“Yeah. Family plot. Let’s check indoors.”

The rotten floorboards were precarious underfoot. At some point, a hunter had used the place to dress a kill; deer bones scattered the room with the main fireplace. Bats had made a colony in the rafters. Regis smiled fondly as they whirled away into the sky. Most of the family’s belongings had long since been destroyed. Clues remained, however, for those with senses as sharp as a witcher’s and a vampire’s. Room by room, they pieced it together. 

The family had moved out to the country estate to escape an epidemic. 

“An outbreak of Black Lung would fit the area and the timeline, if I recall correctly. As is often the case, it affected mainly the young and the elderly.” Regis interrupted. “It was cured some years later by an intrepid young elven herbalist and scholar. History has rather forgotten her contributions to modern medicine.”

He would have gone on but Geralt pointed out that it wasn’t relevant. “Sickness didn’t get them.”

“Very well, what did then?”

“Misfortune.”

“Oh, come now. You make it sound so theatrical.”

“Not a bad choice of words. Stage tragedy wouldn’t be too far off.”

“Well, out with it then, the suspense is wearing on me.” Regis leaned a shoulder against the peeling doorframe and waited, pretending to examine his nails.

“Three kids.” Geralt ticked them off on his fingers, “The youngest son got kicked in the head by a horse. He took a fever and several days later, he died. The daughter drowned in the river. The oldest son was killed; hunting accident on his twelfth birthday.”

“Hm. Those three graves out in the garden.” Regis clucked his tongue. “I can sympathize with the parents not wanting to remain. But that does not explain what we experienced riding in.”

“I wasn’t finished.” The witcher continued, “Now, right around the time their last child died, the lady of this house was getting ready to fire her unmarried maid, for, get this, being in a family way.”

“Not terribly generous of her, but I suppose…. wait? Who would the father have been?”

“You guessed it. Turns out the husband was having an affair with the maid. The wife found out when they ran off together.”

“That poor woman; left all alone. She must have been utterly devastated.”

“Regis, I think I know what’s wrong here. That tree with the swing on it, did you notice it only had one rope hanging down?”

“No. You think she took her own life?”

“I think she’s become a wraith.”

They headed back outside to verify the theory.

Sure enough, a woman’s bones were underneath the spot where her children had once played. The greenish cast of the spectral lantern lit the fog, flickering as she flitted close about the area, bound to the home where she had suffered and died. 

Geralt drew his silver sword and cast a sign on the ground beneath their feet. Regis saw the purplish magical symbol mark the earth before sinking out of sight. He extended his claws and stepped to one side, waiting to see how he might best render aid. He did not want to be in the way of that silver blade.

He hadn’t expected the wraith to be so quick. There one moment, gone the next. He could not track it. Geralt stood unmoving in the center of his sign; weight over the balls of his feet, blade ready, forcing it to come to him. 

She crossed the edge of the symbol and the magic flared up around her. Regis couldn’t determine what it had done at first, until he noticed she had stopped flitting about. With an eerie disembodied shriek, she flew at Geralt. Thin fast lines of silver flashed where his sword reflected the light of her lantern. After three of four unsuccessful exchanges, she retreated. He dropped back into guard.

Regis attempted to thwart her only to discover his claws contacted no more than air.

“Try this!” The witcher rummaged in his belt pouches and tossed a small vial to the vampire. “Put that on your claws, see if it helps.”

He did as he was instructed while Geralt dodged an incoming assault by stepping back with an upwards diagonal cut. Her lantern flickered and nearly went out. She faded back away from the witcher again. He renewed his magical sign and went back to waiting.

The wraith came gliding over and Regis met her with swipe that would have dropped a physical being to the floor in severed pieces. His claws dragged through a patch of thicker, colder air; the wraith. He heard a keening wail and she retreated from him. He followed and tried to drive her toward Geralt. 

When she triggered the yrden sign the second time, Geralt moved to finish her off, blade whipping through a series of cuts, the last of which was a clean horizontal slice at neck level. 

The wail faded, the lantern went out, and the wraith vanished. 

“Is that it? Did we get her?” No sooner had Regis asked than the odd fog lifted. The sounds of crickets returned. 

“Just one more thing.” Geralt sheathed his blade and loped over to the listing remains of a shed. He grabbed a pair of shovels from within and tossed one to Regis. “To make sure she doesn’t come back.”

They buried the woman’s bones in the garden next to her children.

The moon was setting, casting a faint pearlescent rainbow among the thin soft clouds above the tree line, as they began to set up camp. With the wraith gone, the place had taken on a peaceful aura. Fireflies blinked lazily among the weeds. An owl hooted. The bats came back down to roost.

Regis worked to get a fire going so they could cook something for breakfast before turning in to rest for the day. Geralt had gone to wash the grave dirt off. He stood near the well, shirtless, splashing and scrubbing, dirt and water streaking his body. Once he was cleaned up, he threw his shirt back on and came to hunker down near the flames.

“It is a remarkable thing, the change you brought about here.” Regis said, enthralled by the day’s events.

“Pretty basic contract, banishing a wraith. I’ve done it before.”

“Geralt, you oversimplify.” Regis scoffed. “You brought peace to this place.”

“Never took you for the poetic sort.” One white brow arched over gold eyes crinkled in thought.

“It’s not poetry. It’s, well, to say it plainly, it’s envy.” Regis shifted his shoulders a bit at the confession. “Watching you work, what you do; you live in this world _and_ in theirs. We vampires can only _pretend_. I envy you that.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say to that.

Regis turned his attention back to their supplies and the fire, the two of them worked in comfortable silence instead, handing things back and forth, as they cooked, ate, and drank.

They had packed up the food and had just put the fire out when a blood chilling howl echoed from somewhere in the forest off behind the estate. Regis jumped and dropped the wooden bowl he’d been getting ready to pack away.

“What was _that_? Not a werewolf, do you think?”

Geralt eyed him with exasperated amusement. 

“A wolf. Large but perfectly ordinary. About five miles off. Returning back from the hunt.”

“You are certain?”

“Well, since you mention it…could have been a werewolf; a very small one. Just a baby.”

“Very funny. I suppose…one of us should keep watch. In case our fire drew any attention?”

“I can do that. Sun’ll be up soon and I know you’d rather rest out from under it.” Geralt gestured towards the tent and settled down near the extinguished remains of their fire pit to meditate. “One of these days, you’re going to tell me what the deal is with you and werewolves.”

“I assure you, there is no _deal_. I was merely curious.”

“Uhuh. You know, now that I think about it, it may have been…a beekeeper. Large and excessively hirsute.”

“Oh, shut up.” The annoyed vampire crawled into the tent, yanking the flap closed after him.

“Goodnight, Regis.”

“Goodnight!”

Geralt slipped into meditation as the sun broke through the trees to warm his face. Regis wrote in his journal for a bit before getting some rest as well. Nothing howled again and they were not bothered by anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last conversation will make no sense to those who haven't read the books, because it references something canon that happened while Regis was traveling with Geralt & co the first time. But it was one of my favorite scenes and I can't imagine the others not giving Regis shit for it.
> 
> Bad news, I'm home sick when I should be job hunting . Good news, I got a lot of writing done today.


	7. Chapter 7

Once they were over the mountains, Regis took the lead, choosing turns, paths, and roads seemingly at random. After several days, they came down out of the foothills and began to pass farms and small homesteads again.

There was a brief incident involving some harpies, but Regis merely shifted and hissed at them and they flew off shrieking. Geralt destroyed the nest when they came across it, and they had no further trouble from the nuisance creatures. The witcher wondered, not for the first time, how many creatures, whose paths they may have crossed, had picked up on the presence of vampire and simply fucked off.

They eventually came to two immense gnarled old trees that bordered the arch of an even more immense old elven ruin, which had collapsed down into a sink hole in the very distant past. As they rode past, Geralt spotted rocks tangled in the trees roots that bore markings similar to what they had seen at Tesham Mutna. 

“That is where we will be going. But let us leave these noble beasts in the comfort of a stable.” He gestured toward the tiny cluster of buildings ahead. “They will be of no use to use past this point.” 

Upon entering the little hamlet, no one was about. A few of the buildings appeared abandoned. A scaffold and crane sat unused in what had once been a loading area for cargo being lowered into the sinkhole. The way the earth was packed flat and marked by wagon wheels made Geralt suspect that the town doubled or even tripled in size when trade was being conducted. Of the few homes with smoke rising from their chimneys, the shutters were all closed up tight. A few chickens and goats wandered the streets. Geralt noted that there were no dogs.

“Real friendly place. Locals don’t like visitors?”

“I admit it has been quite some time since I was last here. But this can’t be right.” Regis dismounted and he and Geralt wandered among the stone and thatch buildings until they located something of a tavern. 

It was a rectangular two-story building with stables in back, hay piled up, although it needed mucking out. Indoors, there was a long hearth that separated the kitchen from the common room. The owners living and sleeping quarters were off the kitchen, empty. Upstairs, several cozy bedrooms and a bath room collected dust. It was abandoned. 

“I suppose they wouldn’t mind if we helped ourselves to the place as they don’t seem to be using it?” Regis set his saddlebags down over a chair and moved to setting up the chairs and cleaning off the dust from the table. 

He unpacked the remains of their food and then headed out the kitchen door to investigate the overgrown herb garden they had seen.

Geralt dropped his packs on the floor. Set his blades close by, and got to work getting a fire going. He agreed with Regis’ line of thinking; maybe they could draw out some signs of life if they showed a little themselves. The aroma of hot food and a fire might bring someone around and they could get some answers.

The place had a strange, subdued aura. His instincts were murmuring that something was wrong here. 

Regis returned with an armload of herbs and a few late season vegetables he’d found. They located a cutting board, some knives, and he set to work chopping.

“There are chickens running around; I saw several. If you would be so kind as to catch and prepare one or two, we might make a real meal of this.”

Geralt spent the next hour chasing after and cursing, the half feral birds. By the time he got one, got it gutted and its head, feet, and feathers off, he had worked up an appetite.

When he returned, Regis was chatting with an old woman. She took a fright when she saw Geralt, however, and it took more than a bit of Regis’ charm to calm her back into talking again.

“Them down there forgot about us. Nothing comes up and nothing and nobody goes down anymore.”

“The vampires?” Geralt wanted to clarify, “They shut themselves in?”

“Aye. It’s what I said.” She looked at the witcher as if she had never seen him before. “T’was chaos. Folk here know. But without ‘em…. There was fighting. Blaming back and forth. Killing, even. But when t’was all done, well, those that could just packed up and left.”

“Thank you, for telling us.” Regis soothed.

She reached out to him.

“You, you’re their kind. Will you tell ‘em? That we’re sorry for whatever offense we gave. Ask ‘em to forgive? I’ll let you have drink? Please tell ‘em.” She shoved up her sleeve, pale wrinkled arm all scarred and covered in bite marks.

Regis recoiled as if he’d been burned. 

“No! No, thank you, it’s quite unnecessary. Please excuse me, I needtocheckonsomethinginthekitchen.” He fled the room.

Geralt sighed, bundled up the loaf of bread the vampire had unpacked, no doubt intending to share it with her, and escorted the woman home. As soon as the door shut behind her, he could hear the excited whispering of several people. So, the village wasn’t quite as abandoned as it looked. He supposed that if they were accustomed to being defended by their vampire neighbors, then in their absence, they would band together for security.

When he returned, Regis had the roasting pan shoved into the coals. He worked bare handed, not feeling the need to hide his nature here. Geralt felt a pang of something; hurt, guilt, maybe? He knew vampires hid among humans. But he had never truly understood just how many little behaviors they had to monitor and consciously mimic at all times. He wanted Regis to be able to be himself.

“Was she any help?” 

“I’m afraid not.”

“You alright?” He eyed Regis’ trembling fingers until the vampire caught him looking and clenched his fists, flushing.

“I will be alright. I must be. I should have expected that; her offering. A local custom. I had forgotten it.”

“So…the people here bring in trade and let the vampires drink from them, for what? What did they get in return?”

“Protection. Guaranteed trading partners. Some other benefits, depending on the depth of thralldom and the particulars of the vampire in question.” Regis turned a log over and readjusted the roasting pan. The chicken was beginning to cook, aroma rising to make their stomachs growl. 

“From what?” Geralt settled down and began sharpening his blades to pass the time.

“It could be mundane; bandits, for example. Or it could be from any number of other monsters local to the area. Or even from other vampires.”

“There are more?”

“I told you. Vampires here live as themselves, by our ways. Their ways.” He corrected. “Not all of them want to live in a community, however. Thrall stealing was, is, a common practice. Some of the young ones make a competitive sport out of it.”

“You did.” Geralt knew it wasn’t a guess. Still, his brows rose in surprise when the vampire nodded. “How long did you live here for?”

“I…yes.” Regis confessed, “I only visited on a few occasions. It has been…over three hundred years.”

“You also said you have family here.”

“I did. Last I knew, my maternal younger half- sister, Sabine, was here. And… my father used to spend quite a bit of time here. For both our sakes, I should hope he is not in residence now.”

“Now, Geralt, since you have brought it up, what of your childhood and family?”

Geralt stopped and stared at the whetstone in his hands. “I don’t remember them.”

“Nothing at all?” 

“It’s discouraged. Part of our mutations and training. They feared we’d run away back home. Some tried; we’d find the bodies after the first thaw.”

“How awful.” Regis’ expression was filled with sympathy. “Witcher’s don’t keep records of where their apprentices come from? Nothing you were able to discover later?”

“No. When I was young, I could remember a woman’s face. When I told the masters, they punished me and ordered that I forget it. It was Vesemir that first asked me to describe her; said she was my mother. Whoever they were, they’re long dead now. I may not even be from Rivia.”

“I’m sorry I asked.” The vampire reached over and squeezed Geralts hand. “I had not realized.”

The witcher nodded in acknowledgement. 

“My family now may not be blood, but there’s Eskel and Lambert, Dandelion, Zoltan, Ciri and Yen, Triss. Shani. BB, and Marlene. You.”

Black eyes widened. 

“I am flattered. I do not know what else to say, really. Although, it makes me wonder once again if you haven’t got some vampire in those mutations of yours. It’s quite a pack you’ve put together.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched up in a small smile. Emotions a bit raw, they both worked in silence for a while until Regis tried to lighten the somber mood.

“You know, most vampire children are told frightening tales of witchers who will take them away to eat them if they misbehave. My mother had several that used to keep me up at night; made me afraid of the dark.”

“Wait,” Geralt snorted, trying to picture a little Regis cowering in his blankets, and failing, “You mean, _we’re_ the monsters in _your_ fairytales?”

Regis grinned and nodded as he busied himself with chicken and the coals again.

“I do not speak of my family, Geralt,” He volunteered after a time, “Because I no longer speak _to_ my family.”

“Falling out?” Geralt began warming a frying pan over a section of coals Regis wasn’t using, to heat the sausages.

“Several, over the centuries.” He sighed and settled in to tell it, “My parents met when my mother was still quite young. I’m told the attraction was immediate, and mutual. My father was older and already had a well- founded reputation for being a bit of a rogue. They were warned against each other.”

“But, as quite often is the case, it had the opposite to its intended effect. They eloped. A short time later, I was born, and they made some attempt to settle down in what was no doubt supposed to be domestic bliss.”

“It didn’t work out, I take it.”

“No. My father, for lack of a better description, is a vampire’s vampire. He believes in the old ways. Claims to be a descendant of Khagmar, in fact, and takes great pride in it, though given his age and where he was born, it’s unlikely to be true. He… also drinks to excess. It may be that my particular difficulties are an inherited trait.”

“Hm. Your mother get tired of that and leave?”

“She left. First him; we settled in Brugge at that time. And as soon as I was barely old enough to be on my own, she left me. She gets bored, I think. She wanted adventure, romance, glamour, wealth. She thought when my father swept her off her feet, that it would somehow lead to those things.”

“She tried again, though; your half- sister.”

“Yes. She hit closer to her mark with Sabine’s father: a wealthy aristocrat from another clan in some far-off land she settled in for time during her travels. I don’t know how long they were together. But eventually she left him, as well. It’s just her nature. Sabine’s father raised her. She does not resent our mother for it, although, at times, I still do.”

Geralt shook his head and chuckled. “Your family sounds…very human.”

“Hmm. I supposed some things are universal.”

“But your father is the one you worry might be here?”

“Indeed. You will have no trouble recognizing him. I’m told we still look quite a lot alike, though I’ve not seen him for centuries. We also share a name. But Geralt, I must warn you, he becomes violent when he drinks. And if he is here, then he is drinking. He will try to kill you.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my blades oiled.” The witcher resumed his work with the whetstone.

“Please do.” Regis checked on the chicken again; pronounced it done, and they gathered some plates, abandoning the conversation in favor of dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some references to the old polish tv series. its up on youtube and the english subtitles are pretty good.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, a few more villagers showed up, willing to talk. However, their stories were much the same. The vampires had simply withdrawn and shut themselves in. All communications had stopped. No one knew for sure what had prompted it, although wild rumors of dire events had circulated. 

Geralt and Regis resigned themselves to the fact that they would have to head down there to learn anything. As the gates where the lift went down into the sinkhole were locked, they would need to go in through the main entrance. Regis seemed to drag his feet the entire way. When they reached the trees, he stooped to do something to the rocks. 

Geralt had the same impression he’d gotten at Tesham Mutna, which was to say, not much. His medallion didn’t pick up on the magic. All he noticed was a low faint buzzing beneath his skin, gone almost as soon as he registered it. He wondered if vampires had their own sorcerers or the equivalent and if so, how much he might need to offer that person to recalibrate his amulet to include vampiric magics. Or would they take the opportunity to render it unusable. He decided it wasn’t worth the risk and made a mental note to ask Yen about it. 

As soon as Regis finished, the space between the trees shimmered a bit, and what had appeared as a crumbled and unstable cliff, reformed into a clear trail. 

“Well, here we are. Geralt, I must implore you once more, promise me you won’t respond to anything you witness here!”

“Regis,” the witcher sighed, “I promise. How many times have I got to say it?”

The vampire nodded, although he didn’t appear appeased by it in the slightest. Never the less, they passed through the gate and headed down the path towards the subterranean town of Icorime.

When they reached the bottom, a stone wall, studded with half a dozen of what looked like oddly small arrow slits, barred their passage. Geralt felt eyes on them, though he could not see anyone. He supposed there must be some sort of gate or door mechanism, but he couldn’t see that either. 

Regis hailed the unseen guards in Vampiric and after some back and forth, he turned to Geralt, apologetic. 

“I must go in and speak to them. Wait here. Be on your guard. No one should bother you, but I cannot be certain. They are…not pleased to see you.”

With that, Regis misted and rose up to pass through the odd holes in the wall. _Of course!_ Geralt thought. _It’s designed for vampires, not humans. Must be impossible for people to get in uninvited. Or…to leave once they are inside._

An hour or more passed. Geralt waited, then paced, and finally set down to meditate, before Regis returned. He did so by different means; a secret door cracking open in the wall to allow for more conventional passage. He was flanked by two cruel looking guards; identical looking men, both tall and heavily muscled, fitted with blackened armor bearing a design of a serpent, and matching, wicked looking spears. Both had terrible pale eyes and dark hair. He wondered if they were twins, but on closer inspection, one had green eyes, and the other a leucanistic pink.

Geralt’s skin crawled the closer they got. Shifting his shoulders to relieve the urge to reach back and draw his silver blade. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut and let Regis do the talking. 

At long last, after another half hour or so of arguing their case, they were allowed entrance. Geralt felt an unaccustomed jolt in his stomach as the gate ground shut behind them. The guards misted back into hidden towers to either side. They were left alone in a long downward sloping corridor carved from bedrock and bordered by elven ruins. 

Or so Geralt first thought. After few minutes, he got the impression they were being followed. He tried to dismiss it as paranoia, until he caught Regis glancing around, as well. 

“Show yourself.” The vampire suddenly turned and held his ground in the middle of the road.

The petite bruxa who materialized was not what either had expected, although Regis’ reaction was more personal.

“Sabine!” The next sentence was lost on Geralt, all consonants broken up with spitting and hissing. He tried to stifle the grin that threatened as he realized he’d just heard his unperturbable vampire friend curse out his own younger sibling in vampiric.

“What do you mean, what the fuck do I think I’m doing?” She propped a hand on one hip and jabbed a finger accusingly at Regis. “I’m following you, is what. You’re very obviously up to something and I want to know what. Even I wouldn’t have guessed you’d bring the witcher here. If you wanted to get rid of him, you could have just offered.”

“For the last time, Sabine, _he is not my thrall!”_

“Yell that louder, Emiel.” She smiled prettily. “I’m not sure the entire city heard you. The walls have ears, you know. And fangs. If they find out he’s unattached…”

“Damn it all, Sabine. And damn you.” 

“Still not going to tell me why you’re here?”

“You cannot tag along as when you were a child. We are here at the behest of the Unseen.” Regis’ features sharpened as his vampiric appearance threatened to surface. “To investigate the massacre.”

Sabine’s entire demeanor changed. “Wait. I thought…” She swallowed and straightened up, all business. “You’re going to need my help. Or did you think they’d let you parade your pet witcher around unsupervised, based on your word alone?”

More hissing curses in vampiric ensued as the two argued back and forth.

In the end, Regis allowed that his half- sister had a valid point. He had not been given the name of a contact, only that he was to present himself to the vampire who ruled here upon his arrival. She flounced off to find them someone to speak to and left the two to have a hurried and hushed conversation in the hallway as they trailed along in her wake. 

“Sabine’s father, as I said, is a wealthy aristocrat. The position involves a fair amount of diplomacy. When she is old enough, Sabine will likely inherit his title. She _is_ good at convincing others to do what she wants.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“There are several. The first is that she is interested in you.” 

Geralt’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Regis wasn’t prone to jealousy but he could not think of any better term to apply to the vehement tones of hurt and outrage he was hearing. Surely, Regis knew him better than to think he would be so easily swayed.

“More specifically, in your blood. I would not trust to leave you alone with her. The second, is that Sabine is still young. She is barely more than a teenager by our count, and free enough to be out on her own, but if this is as serious as I fear it may be, then I have no intention to drag her into it.”

Geralt nodded, mildly embarrassed by how he had jumped to conclusions. _My blood. Of course, that’s what most here may be after. I need to remember that they won’t be like Regis._

Sabine returned then and waved them in. 

Geralt had to bite his tongue once more. He spent his time looking around the room, cataloging details and filing away observations, as Regis spoke with the vampire in charge; Geralt supposed her to be a sort of alderman. She was tall and willow thin, with dark red eyes, and grayish skin, darker than Regis’. Her hair was black, shot with silver. Geralt studied her from beneath his lashes, careful not to make eye contact. Her wardrobe was rich, all in black and silver with ruby accents, jewelry understated. _Not an alderman_ , he realized. Something about her bearing and demeanor reminded him far more of Emhyr var Emreis. Maybe territory wasn’t how vampires decided things like wealth or status. He would have to ask Regis about it later.

They were granted permission and instructed to speak to the guards who had been on duty. They were given access to the buildings were attacks had occurred. Geralt felt her awareness on him, although her eyes never left Regis. 

“Witcher.” She called to him as they were leaving. 

“Yes?” He bowed his head slightly to one side, indicative of respect without allowing her to meet his eyes. 

“See that you do not overstep yourself. Our city is _unaccustomed_ to your kind.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” He heard the dual threat.

Her too- thin brows pulled down sharply over her eyes at his response. They turned and exited.

“You handled that well. Better than expected, in fact.” Regis gestured in the direction they were to head. “She was trying to catch you up. That was a threat, of course, and a warning.”

“Don’t worry, I know better than to look a strange vampire in the eyes.”

“Good.” Sabine sidled up again. “Because it’s going to happen a lot. We don’t get many witchers here.” 

“They shouldn’t get any.” Regis corrected. “The barrier…”

Sabine giggled. It was not a reassuring sound. Regis rounded on her. 

“You cannot play the diplomat for us and the brat with us. One or the other. Choose.”

“Oh, fine.” She pretended to pout. “I’ll stop.”

“What are you doing here, anyhow? I see it isn’t as coincidental as all that.”

“…” She reevaluated her half- brother, her demeanor grown serious. “Points to you, Emiel. Father sent me. Clan negotiations. He wants this matter settled before he agrees to anything.”

“Then why not tell me when…” Regis trailed off. 

“Where would the fun be in that?”

Geralt watched the little bruxa head down the way Regis had gestured earlier. For his part, the older vampire looked flummoxed. 

“Your sister’s family has some real clout.”

“Yes. Apparently. I wasn’t aware it reached this far. But, as it stands, we are dreadfully short on time, help, and information. If Sabine can clear us a path, give us the trail head, as it were, then I’m willing to let her help that much. After that, we leave her out of it.”

“Your call.”

“Then we’re agreed.”

The two men hurried to catch up.


	9. Chapter 9

Icorime was a city, no longer a town. It was _not at all_ like human cities. It had the rats, the garbage, the crowded streets, the merchants hawking wares to their customers, couples walking together, gardens, drunks stumbling out of taverns, and guards patrolling by every so often. Every individual thing that one might find in a city, Icorime had. What differed was in how those things manifested. 

The drunk stumbling out of the tavern with his arm around a companion was a vampire, drinking from her neck even as they were barely supporting one another. The couple walking? Katakans, ten feet tall stooped over to eight with beards nearly past their knees. They stopped to browse the window displays of a jewelry shop. Clusters of vampires in giant bat forms, both furred and not, clung among the stalactites; napping, grooming, watching. Every so often, one or more would stretch their wings and go swooping down through the ruins, forcing people to duck. 

The public gardens were rock, moss, and fungus arrangements; pretty but entirely subterranean. An ancient Ekimara sat on a bench beneath a moss encrusted elven archway and tossed crumbs for the rats. 

The guard’s eyes reflected light in strange ways. Almost the same way their armor did. Geralt kept his hood up in order to hide his eyes from the crowd. He was by no means the only one. 

A cloud of fog whipped through the crowd to the cries of ‘thief’. One of the guards vaporized and gave chase. 

Merchants were selling, among other things, bottles of freshly decanted blood, beverages of preserved blood, and platters of body parts for the discerning carnivorous customer. A bruxa walking a garkain on a leash went by, munching on something wrapped in a cone of bloody butcher paper. Geralt clenched his teeth, his fists, and glanced up from beneath his hood to see how Regis was doing, as they passed by _those_ booths. His companion was holding up, but he looked sweaty and nervous in a way that put Geralt on edge. 

All in all, the witcher decided Icorime was the stuff of nightmares, and the sooner they figured this shit out and got the hell out of there, the better.

They spoke to all the surviving guards who had responded to the prior attacks. It still didn’t give them much to go on. _It was a vampire. It wasn’t a vampire. It was a monster. No one had seen it. They didn’t know what it was._

The bodies, as per vampire custom, had all been cremated, so there would be no evidence there. The reports agreed something had been used to subdue the victims in several cases. Geralt nearly got them all into trouble for lecturing on the importance of evidence and how not being able to examine the victims would hamper the investigation.

The locations yielded a little bit more. The methods seemed to be similar. As the guard shift had been changing, an attack of overwhelming force had occurred, followed by a swift retreat. The destruction was intense. The bodies had been cut asunder. Furniture smashed, crockery and cutlery flung about. A window broken, where the creature had escaped. Although the means of entry was still undetermined.

By the end of the day, Regis was distracted and Geralt was exhausted. Sabine looked as if she had developed a headache from listening to them constantly argue theories back and forth. The three of them headed back to the inn they’d commandeered to eat and recharge.

“No. It is impossible.” Regis shook his head, kicking a rock off the road as they walked.

“How do you explain it then.” 

“What you are suggesting…”

“Is that whatever did this knows the routines of that city. It can’t be a coincidence that all the attacks happened during guard changes. It knew when its targets would be there and when the least likelihood of getting caught would exist.”

“Then what do you make of the broken furnishings? Why risk attracting the attention of the targets or of the guards?”

“It had to have been done after. They were already dead, or subdued. Otherwise, you’re right, why take the risk?”

“How is it gaining entry. We solve that, we may solve the question of what did this.”

Geralt nodded. “I still think the bodies could have told us more.”

As it was, they hadn’t long to wait.

In the morning, seven more vampires were dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had some fun with the city. Vampires are aliens, being from another world and all. Their architecture, customs, etc, could be way different. And living all together, they could fog, shape shift, etc to their hearts content, so I had to figure out how a city would accommodate that on a world that wasn't theirs.


	10. Chapter 10

Regis was drunk. 

Geralt wasn’t sure at what point during the day that he’d become certain of it. 

It might have been when he noticed the sweating and shaking had stopped. Or just how red the whites of the vampire’s eyes had become. Or when Regis walked through the market with less interest and emotion than he would have shown the dirt roads around Beauclair.

It might have been before they even left the house that morning, when the vampire’s signature cologne was slathered on so thick that later, Geralt would have to ask Regis to step out into the hall during his examination of the bodies, as he couldn’t catch any scent at all over the heady green and licorice reek of sage and wormwood. It might have been the unaccustomed lack of conversation; Regis was never _this_ quiet. 

By the time he called Regis back in to ask him about a residue he was seeing in some of the wounds, only to catch the furtive motion of a flask being tucked away inside the gambeson, it was more evidence than he needed on that front. 

“What do you make of these?” He handed over the magnifier. “Anything unusual, from a vampiric perspective?”

Regis took the glass and peered at the wounds for several moments. 

“Yes. They did not regenerate. These wounds needn’t have been fatal.”

“And the substance?”

“What substance?” His tone was too sharp; defensive.

“In the wounds.” Geralt pointed out the cuts, “But I guess that also answers why you aren’t sharing.” His gesture moved from the cuts to take in where the flask was hidden.

Regis went still. “Please do not do this here.” 

“Fine. We’re going back up. Now.”

“Wait one moment.” Regis indicated the improvised autopsy ‘kit’ Geralt had brought along, scrounged together from common household items around town the previous night, when they’d realized that vampires wouldn’t have one. 

“Hand me one of those swabs. Please?”

Geralt handed one over. Regis carefully collected a sample and they found a small jar to house it in. 

They made the appropriate excuses, and the witcher dragged him back up to the surface. 

“Geralt, please. You are overreacting.” Regis turned as soon as they reached the top of the path. He gripped the strap of his satchel so tightly that his knuckles stood out in pale contrast to the leather. “I am perfectly capable of continuing.”

“No, I’m not. And you’re not.” The witcher crossed his arms over his chest. “Damn it all, Regis, when did you even have time to get that stuff?”

“I …slipped out, last night. I just need it to get through this, Geralt. I can’t be surrounded like that and _not_ drink. I was no good to you. I have done nothing to compromise this case.”

“You’ve compromised yourself. I need you clear headed or we don’t stand a chance here.”

“You’ll manage, I am certain of it.” The vampire took another swig, no longer bothering to hide it.

“Why? Because you need less responsibility? Or is this that damned sense of false bravado you get when you’re drunk?”

“What would you know about that?” Regis sneered, face darkened in anger.

“Stygga castle, Regis. I don’t blame you for drinking that day, it was everywhere. I do blame you for letting Ciri go off on her own after I asked you to help her. She was nearly killed. Then you went and jumped Vilgefortz with no plan and got yourself melted. And I’m the one who had to live with that.” Geralt was shouting by the end. “So, I will be damned before I rely on a partner who has a death wish!”

“Is that what you think this is?” Regis downed another swallow. “I’d quit if I could. I have tried. It always comes back to this.”

“You’d quit, but you can’t, so you won’t? Even your logic’s drunk.” Geralt made a grab for the flask. A scuffle ensued. The two men shoved and wrenched at each other.

“No, I need that!” 

Geralt ripped the flask out of the vampire’s grip and flung it far out over the sink hole. 

“Regis, for fuck sake, pull yourself together.”

Regis nearly shifted to fly out and catch it but Geralt had his collar twisted up in one hand, keeping him off balance. He did something _up_ and then _back_ and then _down_ with that hand; the vampire stumbled back a step. His heel caught against the foot Geralt had slipped in behind, and he tumbled to his ass in the dirt, glaring up in outrage. 

The vampire rose to his feet, dusted himself off, turned to fog, and was gone.

“Shit.” Geralt looked around, trying to see which way he’d headed. “Regis!”

“What the hell just happened?” Sabine appeared at the top of the stairs. “I go to talk to some friends and catch up just in time to see you pick a fight with him? What’s your business, witcher?”

“Did you know he’s drinking again? We fought over it. He took off. So that’s the end of your case; I can’t work down there without him.”

Geralt stormed into the house and slammed the door only to pace around the kitchen, unsure of what to do with the furious energy boiling in him; it wavered from rage to sick regret and back again. _I shouldn’t have said all that._

Sabine crept in after him. 

“I didn’t know. What are you going to do? Did he…hurt someone?”

“Not that I know of. His stuff is still here.”

“So, we wait?”

“We wait.” Geralt agreed. He blew out along sigh, forcing the anger away, and sat down with his feet propped on the chair next to him. 

They passed the night in stilted conversation; Geralt kept one hand on a vial of Black Blood in his bandolier and the other near his blades, much to Sabine's amusement. Her innuendo was much worse than Regis’. She lunged at him a few times only to fall back, cackling to herself. He did not find any of it amusing.

Regis did not return.


	11. Chapter 11

Several sleepless nights passed to no avail. Days went by. No Regis. No word. And no more excuses to wait. They were coming to terms with the idea that they might not see him again.

Geralt headed down the sink hole with Sabine in tow. That morning, another body had turned up in a tunnel outside the city. Leadership had insisted they return to investigating.

Sabine refused to follow the rest of the way, as it involved wading through Icorime’s sewage. Geralt was left on his own. The drip of water, the reek of the place, it was all too familiar at this point in his career. He made sure his blades were loose in their sheaths and headed in.

The body was near an outflow pipe. The first thing Geralt noticed was that this corpse was old. Not much left of it and maggots were making short work of that. The second was that it was not a vampire. Given the amount of dirt, mortar and stone he noticed, it looked as if some portion of the tunnels had collapsed, allowing the corpse to drift down to where it had been discovered. _Did it wash down from farther in? These open tunnels and caves could go on for miles under Icorime. Great place for something to lair._

He followed the mortar trail up the pipeline to find out. 

The collapse had indeed opened new tunnels. He heaved a sigh, grimaced as the stench of the place clogged his nose and mouth, and traipsed along into the newly discovered space, leaving lit torches to mark the route he’d taken. _Strange_. There were no drowners. Nor any other of the usual sewer dwelling monsters he was accustomed to encountering. Not even rats. 

As he followed deeper in, the stonework began to change and the sewer expanded into natural caverns of raw stone. Here and there, old bits of elven architecture could be seen. The water grew deeper, up past his knees. The stench got worse.

The system converged in a large cavern that housed an underground lake. He could not see to the far side.

Geralt took another step and sank in from his knees all the way up to his chin. The torch went out. But not before he caught a glimpse of his surroundings. _Shit_. 

It wasn’t so much a lake as it was a mass body pit that had flooded; bits of corpses, limbs, over there half a head, floated in the sludge. _I guess I found where the vampires dispose of their thralls when they’re finished with them._

He flailed about, testing to see where the drop off was versus where he could safely stand, when something brushed past his ankle. He froze. _Shit!_

Slowly, he drew his silver blade. _A zeugl? More than one? Something else? Please don’t be a kayran. No place to haul it out here._ He watched the water carefully, looking for shadows, movement, ripples, anything. It was so dark, and the water so filthy, however, that there was no hope of seeing the creature. Even less hope when something grabbed his ankles and yanked him beneath the surface, causing him to drop his blade.

He held his breath and drew his dagger, trying to curl in the water towards the tentacle around his ankles. He tried not to think about the bits of soft slimy debris bumping past him. The sense of water pressure increased. There was a roaring in his ears as blood rushed and the dim sound of running water came to him from the depths. It sounded like a waterfall. _How deep did this go?_

One cut, two, three, and he was sawing desperately at it. The blade slipped in the water and sliced his ankle. _Fuck. Fresh blood in the water. Not good._ Suddenly, the water around him was a frenzy. A smaller tentacle gripped his arm. Another around his thigh. One smacked him across the stomach, knocking air from his lungs. 

_How many?_

He kept slashing, stabbing, knowing it didn’t seem to hurt whatever this was. Then a tentacle got around his neck. The ache in his chest told him he was out of time. Water surged up his nose. 

He was being shaken, viciously. Squeezed and pulled and he lashed out, stabbing, desperate. Then just as suddenly as he’d been grabbed, he was let go. 

He couldn’t make heads or tails of which way to swim. Something caught him again, hauling fast. He struck out, only to have the dagger wrenched out of his grip.

They broke the surface and Regis hauled him up the steps to the higher ground. Coughing, retching, sputtering, they leaned, slumped down against the stone walls while Geralt caught his breath.

“Regis? How? Where? …ugh. Fuck this. Ah, I need a bath.”

“As do I.” He examined the rents in his gambeson sleeve. “You stabbed me.”

“Didn’t mean to. Didn’t know it _was_ you.”

“Ah, I deserve worse.…I am so sorry, Geralt. For everything. When I saw Sabine and she told me where you had gone…. I….”  
Geralt straightened up and got a look at his vampire companion in the flickering torchlight.

“You look like shit.” He said. 

Regis’ skin was corpse gray, his eyes so bloodshot it was a wonder he wasn’t weeping the stuff whenever he blinked. He seemed thinner somehow but it might just have been that he was soaking wet, hair plastered to the sides of his skull. And shaky again.

“Likewise.” 

Geralt chuckled, humorless, then turned and spat the taste out of his mouth.

“Can we get the fuck out of here, now?”

“Gladly.”

They staggered back for the exit, leaning on one another.


	12. Chapter 12

“So, what was it in the sewers?” Regis was toweling his hair, post bath, and smelling considerably better even though he still looked like hell.

Geralt cracked open one eye from where he was lounging in the steaming, soapy tub with his feet propped up.

“Not sure. I couldn’t get a look. But it felt like the world’s supply of zeugls. Well-fed, too. Body they found this morning came from there.”

“Yes. A bit of a dumping ground, that.” 

“Makes sense. The vampires use the zeugls as their cleaning crew. They’re not a danger to the population here.”

“No. Are you going to kill them?”

Geralt waved the idea away, bruises from the tentacles standing out in stark wine purple contrast on his pale skin. 

“Let the vampires deal with the damn things. They couldn’t pay me for that mess.”

“I meant what I said. I am so very sorry. I failed you. And myself.”

Geralt sat up and rubbed the damp washrag over his face as he considered his response. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I…I don’t know.” Regis whispered. “I’m not…sobriety may not be within my reach, at present.”

Geralt watched him fumble to button his shirtsleeves with fingers that trembled in withdrawal. 

He hauled himself up out of the water, dried off, and pulled on some pants. The clothes were simple, borrowed stuff from some of the villagers while their own things were laundered. Clothed but still barefoot, he turned and helped Regis; rolling the shirt sleeves up his forearms, bypassing the buttons altogether. 

“What do you normally do when it gets this bad?”

“I leave, a change of surroundings. Or I drink. I am not certain there is a third option.”

“Then we create one. How do we help you stay sober?”

Black eyes went wide, the vampire swallowed thickly against the tide of emotion that threatened to drown him. 

“You…you don’t hate me? After I abandoned you for a bender…. After you nearly died. I could never forgive myself…”

“Regis…” Geralt sighed. His throat felt too damned tight. “No. I don’t hate you. I am mad as hell at you for it. For not telling me how bad it was getting. For running off. That’s not the same thing. I want to help. And you said you want help. So, how do we do this?”

He started on the second sleeve. Regis watched him without really seeing, lost in thought. After a long silence, he spoke.

“I’ve hidden several bottles in my room. If you or Sabine could…? I can’t be trusted to. I’ll only hide them someplace else.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“I won’t be well for another few days. It doesn’t hit us the same way it does humans. But, I may be quite ill by tonight. After two days or so, it ought to pass. I will not be pleasant to deal with. There is a danger. The cravings…do you still have those cuffs?”

“I do.” The witcher gave him a level stare. “But only if it gets that bad.” 

“It will. And, Geralt…I…?” He broke then, calm veneer cracking apart as he slumped forward against the witchers chest. “I never wanted you to see this. But, I am so very grateful that you’re here. I can’t….” 

They ended up sitting, curled up on the floor together amidst the damp towels and leaning back against the wall, while Geralt held Regis through the bout of harsh sobbing that hit of a sudden, like a storm; jagged, uneven gasps, body shuddering, Regis broke down and cried like one who did not allow themselves to cry often. The witcher rested his nose and mouth against the vampires still -drying hair, the strands tickling his nostrils, to wait it out. 

There was a scent there, both familiar and not. It was Regis’ scent alone; no basil, or wormwood, or sage, or mint, or cinnamon to cover it. A purely vampiric scent; it should have been alarming to his witcher’s senses. Instead, he felt something that had been tight and stressed inside his chest for days begin to ease.

“You should know,” Geralt said, as the vampire had calmed to the occasional sniffle. “I sent a message to Dettlaff while you were gone.”

Regis tensed a moment but did not raise his head from the witcher’s shoulder. “I suppose I should have expected that. I am sorry to trouble him further.”

“Stop that. Either people are accounts to you or they aren’t. But you can’t tell me Vilgefortz wasn’t a debt if you’re keeping debts of your own.”

“I know it.” The hoarse whisper suggested more tears. “But I owe so much...”

“I said _stop that_.” Geralt cupped Regis’ chin and tipped his face up until their eyes met.

“So much _what_? What do you owe? What am I worth? People. Are. Not. Ledgers. Life never balances to zero. You can’t make it. Do you understand?”

He didn’t let go until Regis nodded. Once back against his shoulder, Geralt sat with one arm draped over his shoulders while he played through the vampire’s soft hair some more. 

“I wouldn’t know how to tally you up in any case.” Regis murmured, sounding more like himself. “Here you are, quite literally knocking sense into me one moment, then offering me comfort the next. Not to mention dragging me through the sewers to save you.”

“Well, I don’t know what helps; kicking your ass or cuddling you? So, I’m doing both until I have, what would you call it? Quantifiable results? I’m trying to cut back on trips into the sewer.”

That got a watery laugh.

“I missed this.” Regis said, from where he was tucked in Geralts arms. 

“Mm. Me, too.”

Their eyes met again. Reaching out, Regis cupped the side of Geralt’s face, thumb stroking along his bottom lip; expression taut with hunger. Heat bloomed and spread through the witcher’s belly. He parted his lips, catching and setting his teeth lightly against the pad of Regis’ thumb. 

_This was a terrible idea_. Too much stress and danger, emotions too ragged, Regis’ lack of control and whatever the fuck it was with Geralt’s closeness making it worse. But, fuck it all, he _wanted_ this and judging by the soft gasp at the grip of his teeth and the way he leaned in towards Geralt as if he’d been pulled, so did Regis.

One kiss. The proverbial blood in the water that unleashed the frenzy. 

His tongue stroked into the vampire’s mouth and Regis slammed him back against the wall, scrambling to climb on top of him, to get the lacing of his pants back open. Hands tugged and struggled to get under clothing. Groaning, cursing, panting, they toppled to the floor, writhing against one another in desperate abandon.

“Please. _Hurry_. I need…” Whatever Regis had been about to say fell away into a thready moan as Geralt tore the buttons on Regis’ shirt and got his mouth against soft skin, scraping with his teeth, heading downward. 

They kept getting in the way of each other’s hands, wanting to touch and be touched all at once, impatient, uncoordinated. Finally, Regis freed him from the stubborn lacings on his pants and stopped groping him long enough to shimmy his own leggings down his hips. 

Stretching up into another kiss, Geralt got a hand between them, wrapping around the both of them. Regis arched against him, into his hand, swallowing their moans and cries as Geralt’s fingers stroked and squeezed and grew slick and then sticky from the friction as they built up speed.

Regis came first, body grown tense and trembling, then bucking hard under Geralt, his nails raking Geralt’s arms and shoulders, teeth clenched and head slammed back to keep from screaming the witcher’s name. Geralt came in a few more thrusts, losing the rhythm at the end, his teeth clamped on Regis’ shoulder. They slumped together, panting, limp and boneless.

It took a long time to come back down. Geralt’s ears were ringing. His hands felt unsteady. Regis sprawled as if he would be perfectly content to never move again. Gradually, their pulses came back under control. As did their impulses. 

“I’m sorry…I should not have presumed...” Regis sat up, looking dazed.

“No. It's alright. What’s done is done. I wasn’t…”

The realization seemed to hit them both at once; getting off together, while it had been phenomenal stress release, was not the same as getting back together. They cleaned up and redressed under a shroud of awkward silence.

“I think I would like to rest now, while I can. I will need to be confined soon. My room is unsuitable, at present…” 

“Oh, right; the cleaning. Use mine.”

“Thank you.” 

Regis shuffled, sheepish and barefoot, clutching the now- unbuttonable shirt to his thin chest, to the room the witcher had claimed and crawled beneath blankets that smelled, to him, like _care_ and _safety_ and _home_. He was out like a light within minutes.

Geralt pulled on his boots, grabbed a sack and went to search the vampire’s room. He took the bottles out and tossed them all over the sinkhole, watching until they smashed apart on the rocks below, leaving telltale dark stains to mark their passing.

Then, he went back in to try and prepare himself for what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes the obligatory angsty smut chapter.  
> Because groups like AA are not a thing in the witcher universe...Although I do think the vampire Regis refers to as the Humanist does act for him as a sort of sponsor in some ways. {just in case anyone was wondering who regis wrote to in the earlier chapters...thats who I was thinking of}  
> Next...a teensy warning just in case you didn't notice the tags:  
> ch 13 deals with withdrawal. It goes by fast (yay speedy vampire healing process) but it is pretty serious dts, given that Regis has had literal centuries to build up his addiction.  
> If you are not ok reading stuff like that, I will not be offended in the slightest if you'd rather skip to ch 14.


	13. Chapter 13

Regis woke a few hours before sunset, sick and shivering. 

Sabine had made herself scarce. The witcher had the impression that what Regis was experiencing was considered deeply personal, probably shameful, and not something to be witnessed unless absolutely necessary. Before she left however, she had thought to bring some metal bars up from the city to help reinforce the bedframe where Regis would be shackled.

By nightfall, he convinced Geralt that it was time to cuff him. That harsh unfeeling tone was seeping back into his voice. Geralt remembered that from Tesham Mutna; it still made his skin crawl. 

By midnight, the vampire was thrashing, gnashing his fangs, straining to get loose, claws grown long. He oscillated between pleading tearfully and threatening dire violence unto Geralt’s personage if he did not immediately release him. He begged for blood. He cursed and wept and struggled.

By the second day he was worse. His eyes, eclipsed by black, registered no recognition of Geralt or his surroundings. He spoke to and about things that weren’t there. His struggles increased; he cracked the bed in several places, although the metal seemed to be holding up. Gouges formed in the wall behind the headboard and along the floor where the feet had scraped repeatedly. The noise kept everyone well away.

Geralt meditated. He checked on the state of the bedframe and bound it up in extra leather straps where he saw cracks appearing, careful to stay out of claw and fang range while he worked. Not that it helped much, but it was something to do. He pulled the covers back up whenever Regis’ thrashing kicked them away. Again, pointless, but any action felt better than none.

It was the screaming that bothered him the most. High and agonized, it didn’t sound like Regis at all and yet, it sounded too much like him.

At dawn on the third day, he came out of meditation and opened his eyes to quiet. Rain pattered softly against the panes.

Regis was still, twisted up in the blankets, but still. When Geralt shifted to check on him, black eyes rimmed in red opened and Geralt saw recognition there, even before a sad tired smile tugged at one corner of Regis’ mouth. He gently took the shackles off. The vampire’s wrists were a frightening purple black, rubbed raw were he had strained so badly. But even as Geralt looked, the bruises began to lighten. Regis squeezed the witcher’s hand and then passed out from sheer exhaustion. 

Geralt, who hadn’t slept, or eaten, or bathed for those same days, understood all too well. He pulled off his boots and settled down next to Regis to catch a quick nap. 

It was, after all, his room.


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Dettlaff arrived, rain dripping from his overcoat, Sabine was pacing the kitchen space.

“What is going on?” she asked, after the former had introduced himself.

“How do you mean? Should I not be asking you?”

“Go and have a look, then.” She gestured at the stairs.

Dettlaff climbed up with some hesitation. Something had made the young female agitated. Given the stilted lines he’d received by raven, _from the witcher_ , no less, he had no idea what he was about to walk in on. The last he had heard, Regis had given in to his blood vice and disappeared. He was expecting to need to find Regis or even to pry Regis off of someone. As usual, his expectations did nothing to prepare him.

Regis, no longer missing, was sprawled in bed. And drooling a bit onto Geralt’s shoulder. Who was snoring. The two were tangled up, sound asleep. The bed was in shambles; snapped apart in several places. The legs splayed and leaned oddly so that the center of the mattress was down to the floor and the two were canted at a slight angle, heads lower to one corner. It had served to roll them closer together. 

His blood brother had an arm around the witcher’s waist and was, for lack of any better term, snuggling him. _A witcher._

Dettlaff blinked. 

“What happened here?” He asked, hearing Sabine come up behind him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Or that he would understand.

“We had to restrain Emiel; Geralt stayed to guard. This morning, I found them like this.”

Dettlaff thought about whether or not it would be better to wake them or leave them to sleep. But he had come all this way and he wanted to know if Regis was alright and what had happened. He prodded the witcher with his boot.

Gold eyes cracked open to find the two higher vampires frowning down. _Shit_.

Checking on Regis, who was still asleep and showed no sign of waking soon, Geralt slowly extricated himself from the other. Regis grumbled a bit in his sleep and moved over to take the warm spot Geralt had left behind.

They headed back to the kitchen where he explained the prior events as he and Dettlaff worked to turn the leftover chicken into a thin but palatable soup. Regis would need to eat when he woke as well. Seeing the arrival of another vampire, the townsfolk came by with fresh dumplings. Dettlaff sent them away with thanks, accepting the food but declined their other offers. 

They had lost nearly a week on their case. Sabine made it clear they were to get back to it as soon as possible. Leadership wanted it resolved. Geralt wanted that as well, but made it clear that making sure Regis was stable was his first priority.

“What is he to you?” She asked, “I thought he had taken a thrall, after all these years. I was surprised; our family never has. Then I saw you fight and I thought maybe he had, I don’t know, hired you to keep him in check? But it’s neither of those.”

“I find myself curious, as well.” Dettlaff concurred. “How do a witcher and a vampire meet, other than under the usual circumstances.”

“You mean like we did?” Geralt sighed and set out the tale as they ate, being sure to set aside a portion of dumplings for Regis, in case he wanted some later.

When Regis woke, it was to an empty room. Geralt’s scent was recent; he burrowed his nose into the pillow before reconciling himself to face the world sober once again. His whole body ached. But the ache in his heart at how he had behaved, at what Geralt must think of him now, was far worse. 

On his way downstairs, he heard Dettlaff’s voice along with Sabine’s, asking for the story behind how they had met. And then Geralt’s low gravel tones took up the tale. Regis smiled and teared up a bit, staying on the stairs for a while to listen. 

“But how were you not afraid of him?” Sabine asked.

“We were afraid of him. We thought he was a tax collector.”

Regis gave himself away by laughing then. “You did not.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and took the space Geralt and Dettlaff indicated to him. He accepted the tea, wrapping his hands around the mug and inhaling the sweet herbal aroma that the steam lifted to him. 

“Only guess we could agree on.” Geralt shrugged.

“Tax collector?” Regis sighed, “Have you no better imagination?”

“Well, you do dress like one.” Sabine teased.

Regis picked a crumb up off the table and threw it at his half-sister.

“Children.” Geralt chided.

Regis could have kissed him. _Right there, where the jaw and throat meet, lower to the pulse point and bite_ …His stomach cramped, appetite gone. _Why is this still happening?_

“Dettlaff,” Regis exclaimed, turning to his blood brother to distract himself. “seeing you reminds me. How are the pups getting along?”

“Teething.” Dettlaff groaned and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Vampires… _teething_.” Geralt considered it and shuddered. “Got them out just in time.”

“Indeed. How fortunate for you. I, on the other hand, have not a single pair of boots left that aren’t covered in bite marks.” Dettlaff lifted a foot to prove it. “They seem partial to Koviri leatherwork.”

“How is your new pack adjusting to them?”

“The alp sisters adore them; baby talk to them, bring them shiny presents, put bows and ribbons in their fur. They’re spoiling them rotten.”

“Although, it seems someone had a head start on that; I’ve never met such fussy eaters among katakans.”

He glanced pointedly at Geralt over a spoonful of soup. 

“Not my fault. My cook. She used to mix raw egg in with their chicken.”

Regis smiled at the banter between the witcher and his blood brethren, and turned his attention to the food. He wasn’t quite sure of his body’s willingness to accept it just yet. The tea was far more welcome.

It was good to see the three of them getting along. No, that was wishful thinking. Tolerating one another for his sake. It was a start. Now if only he could get himself back into a shape fit to be of help. 

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What have I missed?”

Geralt and Sabine exchanged a look.

“What is it?”

“It struck again. Yesterday, while you were…indisposed.” Sabine failed to hide the concern on her face. “Father is thinking of pulling out of the agreement they’re building. He may order me home soon.”

“That settles it, then. We can go as soon as you’re ready.” Regis stood and looked to Geralt.

“No.”

“I beg your pardon? You agreed to help.”

“I am helping. You. If you make a list, can Sabine, Dettlaff, and I can get you any alchemy equipment you might need? You could get set up in here, start looking at that residue we found.”

“That is…quite a concession.” Regis sat back down, relieved at not having to face the city again so soon. He was too raw. “Thank you. I would prefer it, if I have the choice. But Geralt, where does that leave you?”

He would be damned, by his own hand if necessary, before he let his witcher go back down there alone. Dettlaff could guard him, but he was no detective. And Sabine…he hoped her father would call her home.

“Give it a few more days.” Geralt shrugged, unconcerned. “Dettlaff wasn’t the only person I wrote to.”

“May we know who?” Regis’s brows rose. 

“Eskel. Lambert. Yen. Ciri.” The witcher shifted a bit, uncomfortable at the scrutiny. “Don’t know if they’ll all answer. But someone ought to turn up.” 

They finished their meal. Regis managed two whole dumplings and some soup before writing up his list. Afterward, he decided what he really wanted was more rest. He headed back to Geralt’s room without even considering his own. The others headed down to have a look at the latest murder scene.

He got maybe three or four more hours before Geralt was back, shaking him awake.

“I’m sorry. I need you to see this one.”

The witcher’s voice was stuffy from a swollen nose. Broken, Regis realized. The scent of the witchers blood, shed by another, ignited a cold fury in him. Taking in Geralt’s appearance as he swung out of bed to grab his gambeson and satchel, he could see additional cuts and scrapes on the witcher’s face and hands. 

“Have you been brawling?” He asked, taking the time to set Geralt’s nose. Had other vampires gotten it in their heads to jump him? _Highly probable and surprising that it took this long_. He would have worried more had not Sabine and Dettlaff come through the door into the kitchen just then. Sabine had a fading gash on her cheek. Dettlaff…Dettlaff was rattled, but putting on a calm front.

_So long as everyone I care about got out alright._

“What are you angry at me for?” Geralt answered, as soon as he had quit cursing over the pain. “It came back.”

That brought Regis up short. 

“Do you mean to say you fought this thing?!” 

“Yeah. Last house it hit, it was still hanging around. We didn’t even get in. Think it meant to ambush whoever showed up. Regis, it fights like a vampire. But Black Blood didn’t work.”

“You were right to wake me. This is a new behavior. Fascinating, indeed. I should like to see if it left any new evidence.”

They headed back down.

Sabine and Dettlaff stayed and got to work on Regis’ alchemical equipment.


	15. Chapter 15

“Must have been one hell of a fight.”

Geralt stood over the bodies. Three vampires and the what was left of their human thralls. The dried-out veins stood in stark contrast to the corpses gray skin. The floor was stained with comingled and congealed fluids, although not as much as there should have been. An odor, almost familiar, wafted here and there. He was having trouble pinning it down. 

“Indeed.” Regis came away from the door, debris crunching under his boots. Expression veiled, he crouched and removed a few items from his belt pouch. Working carefully, he scraped up samples from the bodies and the mess on the floor, bottling and labeling it all as he went. The bottles disappeared into his bag.

“Get anything?” 

“Perhaps. With any luck, I have enough samples to begin work on this supposed toxin. Perhaps I can develop an antidote.”

“It’s a starting place.”

Something about the air currents were still bothering him. Geralt sniffed, chasing one until it vanished behind a wall. Tapping, sniffing, he worked his way along until he found the section that sounded hollow.

“A false panel?” Regis, curiosity piqued, tucked his samples and equipment into his satchel and together they managed to shift the secret door away.

A stairwell descended, fathomless black at the bottom. Not even so much as a torch. 

“Grab that lamp, will you?”

“Afraid of the dark, all of a sudden?” The vampire looked at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“Very funny, Regis. You and I may be able to see without any light. This thing though… I wonder if it likes light?”

“Very well, lead on.”

The stairs were ancient. Vampire architecture, if Geralt was any judge. Regis confirmed it when he asked. Several levels down, however, the floor opened onto a series of rooms. Skeletons were scattered about, jumbled into drifts. There were symbols painted on the wall, the marks of various vampire clans. The wall of one room had collapsed, revealing a cavernous space beyond. 

Exchanging a glance, the two stepped over the low uneven wall and continued to follow the trail. It was utterly still; their footsteps and breathing echoed with impossible volume. 

“This whole area is riddled with such caverns; a natural geological phenomenon when a calcitic substrate is eroded by water.”

“Regis..”

“I suppose they must have had some heavy rains in the past season, to have caused so many new collapses.”

“You gonna lecture at me the whole way?”

“Certainly not. How much light do we have remaining?” 

“Maybe twenty or thirty minutes?” Geralt eyed the candle in its glass lantern housing. "Thought you weren't afraid of the dark, anymore."

Regis shot him a look, but otherwise ignored the comment.

Another staircase down. A doorway flanked with torch brackets marked the transition. Geralt stopped and lit the torches before having a look around. This one was different.

“Look, the stone doesn’t match and neither does the workmanship.”

“I’m no mason, but I believe you are correct. What do you suppose it means?”

“Someone came all the way down here and added on. Vampires do this?”

“Possibly. Let’s keep looking.”

By now they were deep under the earth. The stairs led spiraling down for so long they had to pause periodically to keep from getting dizzy. Geralt lit every torch he could find. At least they would have some light to return by. They still had not seen the creature although signs of its passing were all around and his instincts were telling him they were on the right trail. There was a breathless sense of being watched, growing stronger the further they went.

The stairs ended at one end of a long hallway. Several rooms led off, sealed behind heavy metal doors with grating set over observation windows. Some were rusted off their hinges. Others still locked. One looked as if it had been blown open from inside.

“Is this a lab of some sort?” Regis’ breath tickled Geralts ear, the vampire was keeping so close. “Something certainly went wrong here.”

“Any tales of mad vampire scientists?” the witcher quipped. The humor fell flat. His instincts were screaming at him. 

“None. I have no idea what this could be. Please, be careful.”

“I’m always careful.” Geralt drew his silver blade and handed the lamp off to Regis, who held it one handed, his other hand extending into long claws. “We’re getting close to something, whatever it is. All the bones and old marks lead to here. Odor’s stronger, too.”

Stepping forward, he checked the first door. Locked. Then the one across. It creaked open with a horrid rusty squeal. Wincing, he ducked through long enough to get a look. A bed. Shackles. An overturned table and a lot of broken glass; vials that had been knocked down and shattered. The next room. And the next; all the same. Then, an all too familiar stand holding bottles, tubing, and those horridly large needles. _Being seven years old and strapped down for the first time…._

“Son of a….” His hands clenched into fists.

“What is this? Some sort of hospital? Or…medical experiments? But why so deep underground…. hazardous research, possibly… contagious diseases?” Regis was theorizing, more to himself, to cover his nervousness.

“Regis.”

“Fortunately, neither of us need worry about contagions. Do you think the poor souls got out…or...?”

“Regis.”

“What?”

“It’s not a hospital.”

Geralt moved to the next room and checked that one as well, just to be sure; the same set up. This time, a skeleton lay scattered. It was small. A child. _Male_. He knew that without looking.

The next room was the same except that instead of a bed, that nightmare table with all its straps and buckles and holes so liquids would drain through. More bones.

“Who…what were they doing to this poor child?” Regis was staring at the skeleton. 

“Do you remember what I said about all those cages we saw at Tesham Mutna?” Geralt asked into the silence.

“Yes. But please don’t blame vampires for this, Geralt. We don’t know for sure that they are responsible for...”

“They aren’t and I’m not.” Geralt interrupted. “Back there, it wasn’t about vampires, not really. It was about _what_ they had done. Locking people up. Torture. It…shit like that…it hits close to home. Now you know why. This isn’t a medical facility or a lab, though it used elements of both.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Trial of the Grasses, Regis. This is a witcher school.”

Regis was speechless for a long moment. “Oh, Geralt…. Oh, no.” He looked back at the little skeleton. At the needles and shackles and straps. “Is this how…? Are you saying, that _this_ is what they did to _you_?”

“Close enough.”

The vampire looked as if he might cry. Geralt took a breath and continued forward before that rubbed off on him. He had accepted what had been done to him a long time ago. At least, that was what he told himself. No sense in dwelling. Moments like this, it felt more like a lie.

They had made it to the end of the hall. The last door. The one that had taken the most damage. The inside was scored with claw marks and dented from a heavy or strong body hurtling against it, again and again.

They entered what was a combination of common room and dorm with a laboratory tucked into a side alcove. Tables were broken or overturned. Beds had been ripped apart, sword marks and arrows embedded in the splintered wood. Scorches of magic. And bones. Heaps and heaps of them gleamed; garish and grinning in the lamplight. They piled up in corners and crunched underfoot. Along the far wall, man-sized glass containment tubes lay shattered and broken. Oddly, the lab didn’t seem to have been targeted; the damage there was less. _The lair_.

Some kind of sigil was inlaid into the floor tiles. _A ward of some sort? Might explain the lack of damage._

A toppled bookcase had spilled rotting tomes and disintegrated papers all over the floor. Geralt headed for it, muttering. 

“Come on, give me a clue, a journal, some records, anything.” 

“There is nothing here.” Regis swept the light around the room, keeping lookout, despite the fear Geralt could smell coming off him in waves. 

“I want to check anyway, just to...”

“No, I mean, there are no insects, rodents, spiders, or other lesser monsters.” The vampire clarified, gesturing about. “All the normal scavenger types one might expect to find in such a place. There are none.”

“I noticed that in the sewer. Maybe it means something…wait…what’s this…Aha! Got something.” His shout of excitement echoed down the corridor and both men flinched at it.

Somewhere in the surrounding rooms, a sound echoed back that raised the hair on their arms.

“I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

Regis didn’t need to be told twice. The two rushed back the way they had come, leaving the lair, and the horror behind. Just in time; the candle dribbled a sudden rush of wax, guttered, and went out. As had all the torches. They made the rest of the trip back in total darkness, pausing only long enough for Geralt to drink one of his elixirs so he could see just enough to make it the rest of the way. 

Bursting back up into the main room, they shoved the false wall back into place. 

“There you are.”

Both Regis and Geralt jumped, the former with an undignified squawk and the latter whipping into guard while squinting dilated eyes against the painful increase of light.

Dettlaff stood over the bodies, regarding them with a puzzled expression. 

“You did not return, so I came to check on you. You found something?”

“Of course.” Regis colored faintly but recovered his composure. “We will need guards stationed here. It goes quite a long way down. The creature has taken over the lowest levels. We will want an alarm should anything attempt to come through.”

“Should we not block it up, instead?” Dettlaff’s dark brows drew over his pale blue eyes.

“No point.” Geralt dusted himself off. “There are other entrances, and it can fog, so it wouldn’t stop this thing from getting through, but this is the only way in that we know of that we can use. That I can use.”

“Do you mean to bait it, then?” Regis was incredulous. “We don’t even know what it is?”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. Hopefully, this will tell me more.” He held up the books he’d grabbed. “Have you got enough samples to start working?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Then let’s get to it.”

Dettlaff followed them out.


	16. Chapter 16

“Any luck?” Regis stretched and yawned, glancing at the beakers, filling drip by slow drip, before turning back to Geralt. Once the toxins similarity to Black Blood had been verified, beginning an antidote loosely based on a few other witcher’s potions had been relatively easy. Which said nothing for the process itself. That would take time. They’d been working most of the night.

The witcher was hunched like a vulture over the books he’d grabbed. Several other volumes had been brought to him by request. Sheets of paper were scattered about; he had been taking notes, comparing information. He straightened, the vertebrae in his neck popping, and rubbed his eyes. His pupils still appeared a bit overlarge. Regis wondered if they should still be like that and shifted away from the light so Geralt wouldn’t have to look into it to talk to him.

“Yeah. Morbid stuff. I don’t understand most of it, but Regis, they made a hybrid.”

“Are you saying that this thing is part vampire and… part witcher?”

“According to this, there was a normal witcher school nearby, on the surface. One of the first, or maybe even _the_ first. Then they discovered the vampires, or the vampires discovered them. Anyway, conflict ensued. Only they can’t kill the vampires, so they end up fighting the same ones over again every five to fifty years. This fellow got it into his head that until the vampires were eliminated, witchers couldn’t fulfill their purpose and the whole guild was a failure.” 

“He starts by upping the doses of mutagens. Intensifying the training. Of course, the result is just a higher casualty rate. Then he reaches out to the magical community, and he finds a sorcerer. And few others. The records aren’t too clear about it. 

“They may have wanted deniability and that says it all about their intentions, really.” Regis interrupted.

Geralt nodded and continued.

“They set up that dungeon we found. The next trial series, they had a few survive; but it still didn’t work how he wanted. So then, and here is where it gets really wild; he got his hands on a vampire. A young one. And he tried the process on him. And it worked.”

“You mean…. this thing…is...was…?” Regis stuttered, at a loss for words.

“According to this.”

“How? Our regenerative properties make it impossible to administer a witcher’s mutagens. In theory, anyway.”

“That’s what I always heard, too. He found some way to overcome it. Drained it of all its blood and replaced it with the mutagenic mixture he wanted, magic, some other stuff. There are pages and pages of formulas I can’t even begin to understand. The process appears to have taken several decades. He was very careful, didn’t want to risk killing it. And…the moment it regained consciousness, it killed him.”

“So, the others tried locking it up. It got loose and killed everyone. One of the last entries, they speculate as to whether or not it’s even sentient, anymore. I think it’s just been living down there ever since. The recent rock slides must have reopened a way into the city.”

“And it’s been hunting here ever since. A perfect killing machine: no thought, no morals, all that violence and thirst and not a care for what it wreaks. I pity it.” Regis sighed. “But, where does that leave us? How do we stop it?”

“Theoretically, if it’s a higher vampire...?”

“Then one of us should be able to kill it, permanently. Yet, no one has.”

“Would they have? Besides, it regenerates faster than anything I’ve ever seen. It shook off Black Blood before, too…but maybe one of these is the formula for whatever they used to create it in the first place.”

“Yes! Of course, all we need to do is slow it from regenerating long enough for someone to take the killing blow. Please tell me one of those formulae is it?”

Geralt shrugged. “You’re the alchemist. You tell me.”

“Geralt, I still know so little about your mutagens. What I do know now gives me nightmares. And we are frightfully short on time.”

“Right. I thought you might say that. Let’s hope the others get here soon.”


	17. Chapter 17

“What have you stirred up this time?” Yennefer arrived first, her portal opening smack in the middle of the kitchen. 

Lambert and Eskel arrived together late the next day, having crossed paths on the road. 

Ciri was last, having spent the extra time arguing with her escort, and then ditching them. She’d sent a letter to Emhyr to say it was some type of diplomatic exercise in an effort to keep Geralt’s name out of it.

“Not that it isn’t wonderful to see all of you again, but what are we doing here?” Ciri was the first to ask.

Introductions were made. To say that working _for_ vampires came as a surprise, and an unpleasant one at that, was an understatement. Lambert nearly walked out. Eskel ground his teeth and questioned Geralt’s sanity. Yen glared daggers and demanded answers; her expression at learning Regis was alive was priceless. But in the end, they heard Geralt out. And then, they agreed to stay. They took over the rest of the tavern that Regis and Geralt had commandeered. Sabine was happy to act as liaison. That she, too, was a diplomat of sorts, lent Ciri’s excuse an odd sort of credence. An accident of fate.

Before long, Yen, Regis, and Sabine had their heads together over the texts, charting formulas and arguing theories. 

The witchers went over the attacks with Ciri, discussing strategy and possible defenses. Dettlaff hovered awkwardly between groups until he gave up and sat by the fire, listening, and drinking tea.

“You’re certain?” Eskel rubbed his chin in thought.

“I know it laces its claws with something like Black Blood. Could be immune from exposure. And that lab…it was the only spot that hadn’t been destroyed.”

“That symbol, Geralt, let me see it.” Yen held out a hand for the sketch they’d made.

“These records pretty clearly document that its insane.” Lambert, the voice of skepticism, as always.

“They documented a result they didn’t like. Its anger was directed at them. But after everyone was dead? It had centuries to calm down, to feed, and to get bored. It attacks away from guards, evades capture, and adjusted to our presence here.”

“So, what? You think it’s studying?”

“I think it might have wanted an answer to the most basic question anyone has.”

“What am I?” Eskel nodded. “Why me?”

Geralt nodded back. “Maybe it went looking for answers.”

“And given hundreds of years to learn and all that equipment to play around with….”

“You’re saying this creature is intelligent?” Ciri looked up from where she had been pacing as she listened. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s definitely clever. It’s been learning since we got here, adapting.”

“Should we put out a call to the other schools? Let them know what’s going on?” Eskel asked.

“How bad could this get? It's only one creature.” Ciri looked to Eskel in surprise and then around to the rest of them. “Involving other schools would be to risk a war between witchers and the vampires who live here. Which was how this all got started in the first place.”

“What if it reaches the surface?”

“Are you honestly defending _vampires_?” Lambert scoffed. 

Across the room, Regis and Sabine both looked up from the books, one in concern and one in disdain.

“Yes, Lambert, I am.” Geralt folded his arms across his chest and stared down his younger brother -in- arms. “Regis asked for help in good faith. As for the other schools, it’s a backup plan for now. We should put some information together and have it ready to send, though, just in case.”

Regis, eavesdropping, smiled and turned back to the books. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Yen indicated the sketch she was still engrossed in, “It incorporates pieces of several different symbols. But these shouldn’t go together to make anything. And I can’t figure out how these markings fit. Unless…” 

“Could it be broken, somehow? Maybe they did it wrong?” 

“You said there was less damage. Had it been cast incorrectly, or malfunctioned later, that would most assuredly not be the case.” Yennefer all but rolled her eyes at Geralt. “If it is what I think it is, then it’s called a Chaos Design. I never thought to actually see one.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“Very. It was a way of creating a unique single use symbol which could only be activated by its creator. It would appear as literal gibberish to anyone else. The name comes from the inclusion of the element of chaos in its creation. This was extremely high level magic.”

“Chaos?” Regis asked, “Forgive me, but isn’t that terribly dangerous? More so than the standard elements used by your colleagues?”

“Yes. Only the most powerful dark practitioners would ever have attempted this. It has long since been outlawed. One symbol, cast incorrectly, could unleash enough energy to destroy a city the size of Vizima.”

“Ok. Single use, I guess that means no chance of taking it apart?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Can you tell what it was used for?”

“I will do what I can. But it may be impossible.”

“Since when has that ever stopped you.”

The look she shot him could have stripped paint off the wall.

“Chaos, huh? Got to hand it you, Wolf, your jobs are never boring.” Eskel grinned ruefully and he and Lambert went upstairs to put their gear away. Ciri followed, eager to trade stories and insults with them.

“Well, this place is certainly full of life, compared to how we found it.” Regis was smiling, fangs and all.

Geralt nodded. The place felt….better, somehow. Not fixed, not safe, not yet. But better. Even the towns folk had started to relax some, now that help had arrived. The streets were less deserted, and windows shone with warm light.

Everyone was here. Now all they needed was a solid plan.


	18. Chapter 18

“So, then I tell him to put his money where his mouth is, and we go out into the woods just as soon as it gets dark enough.”

“Was there a monster, or not?” Ciri asked.

It was late and they had been drinking for hours. Well, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert had been drinking. Ciri had been nursing her drink to keeping them company, as no one else wanted to. Regis and Yennefer were in the lab, going over something. Sabine and Dettlaff had headed down into the city to catch some sort of entertainment, not wanting to tempt themselves by watching witchers get drunk.

“Nah. Just a couple of drunken locals playing a prank. But this pellar, he got so scared when one of ‘em stood up, he punched the guy unconscious in one hit and ran the whole way back to town screaming like a banshee. Pissed himself.”

“You still get paid?”

“Yeah. He was too embarrassed about the whole thing.”

“Sweet.”

“Alright, weirdest contract, but not because of the monster.” Eskel issued the next challenge, accompanied by another round of drinks.

“Ugh. Too many of those.” Geralt shook his head and then regretted the motion as the room continued moving back and forth after he’d stopped. “I can only choose one?”

“Can we change the rules so Geralt has to take a drink every time he complains?” Lambert asked.

“Then there would be none left for the rest of us. Ciri, you ought to turn in. We have a long day tomorrow and I’m counting on your help.” Yennefer took a clean mug, poured a drink for herself, and headed upstairs, all composure and grace.

“Yes, mother.” Ciri sighed, drained the last of her mug and said her goodnights. “Try not to die of alcohol poisoning. We’re not wasting our supplies on making you all a batch of Wives Tears.”

Her boots sounded loud on the stairs.

“Yen’s still mad at you, huh.” Eskel turned to Geralt, too drunk for his voice to be quite low enough.

“I don’t know. There’s nothing for her to be mad about. She got what she wanted.”

“You two going to be ok working together?”

“Yeah. She wouldn’t have come out here if she didn’t think it was serious. Coulda sent a letter or something if she didn’t want to see me.”

“Ok, weirdest contract?” Lambert interrupted, “Or I’m taking your turn.”

“Go ahead.”

“Fine. I get a contract to clean out a cave of nekkers; some guy wants to use it for storage. Easy. But this guy is high on fisstech or something, and he keeps giving me wrong directions. But every place he sent me, had something else. I got a wraith in the graveyard. Then some water hags down in the cistern. After that there was a gargoyle in some old elven ruins.” 

“Plus, he kept forgetting what he’d hired me for.” Lambert slapped the table, laughing. “So I got paid four times what we had agreed on. Never did get the nekkers, but I figured we were even at that point.”

“Mine was a daft old lady who issued a contract for ghouls digging up her graveyard-adjacent vegetable patch. But she just wanted someone to run errands for her and listen to her talk about her grandchildren and her cats. She was a nudist. And the ghouls were a chort.”

“Eskel, that is…that is just sad.” Lambert shook his head and slammed his glass down for a refill.

“Yeah. It really was.” Eskel finished off his drink and poured himself another before shoving the bottle to Lambert.

“Alright, your turn.”

“Hm. Only one I can remember right now.” Geralt squinted into his drink. 

“On Skellige, I get asked to take a look at this body by the roadside. Folks wanted to know what had killed him. I go out there, and a rock comes crashing down. So, I start snooping around. Next thing I know, monsters are hunting me. There was a werewolf and a godling and I don’t remember what the other thing was….and there was another one.” He tried unsteadily to count them on his fingers.

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look before collapsing into fits of laughter. Lambert pulled the mug out of Geralt’s hands, spilling as he did so, and sniffed at it. He took a swallow, looked back to Eskel and shrugged.

“He’s drinking the same shit we are. How am I not that fucked up yet?”

“Talk less and drink faster. I think Geralt wins weirdest contract. Assuming any of that… was real.”

“Shit. You believe him?”

“No.”

“Worst contract.” Geralt issued the next challenge.

“Why? You’re just gonna say sewer zeugl. Like we haven’t heard it… a thousand… times.” 

“Sooo many zeugls.” Geralt muttered. “No. Got something else.”

“It can’t be Wild Hunt either.”

“Hey, Lambert.” Geralt jabbed a finger at him. “What’s with all the rules all of… a sudden.”

“We were there…. for that. Doeshn’t count.”

“Pfff. Fine. Worst contract… your first year out.” 

“Deal.” 

Eskel refilled their mugs and they continued their game. The night wore on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty much a filler chapter, but I need to get writing since I'm working up to the main fight...and I decided some of the stuff over the next couple of chapters needed to be spaced out more. My schedule over the next two weeks is busy so updates will probably slow.


	19. Chapter 19

_Raucous laughter from the kitchen._

Regis ground the dried _Artemisia absinthium_ beneath the smooth marble pestle, rotating as he did so, using enough force to make the tendons in his wrists and forearms stand out. The scent of must and menthol rose all around him. When he got the consistency correct, he emptied the mortar’s contents into the container he’d set out and started on the next batch. 

That it was two in the morning meant little. His erstwhile lab partner had long since gone to bed. Shirtsleeves rolled up, apron on, surrounded by bundles of fresh and dried herbs, he had lost track of the time. Vampires had no circadian rhythm. 

Beside which, the discussions over the past few days between colleagues had been stimulating; finally getting to meet Yennefer, and Ciri, again. It was wonderful to see them both doing well. Although the familiar way Geralt and Yennefer spoke to each other was…difficult. Even when they were trading insults. There was pain there; Regis hardly needed to be empathic to understand that. The same pain echoed between Geralt and himself now as well. Would it be worth it if they could stop this creature together?

_The sound of a glass breaking. Slurred cursing._

In spite of the differences and initial issues of trust, their little group had made progress. The rough sketch of a real plan was emerging. Then, he’d also made good progress on his antidote; it was busy processing. In another few days he might have something they could begin testing. He felt he could not sleep now. 

So, he prepared some more of his signature fragrance while Geralt and company got drunk together two rooms away, which was, apparently, the custom when witchers of the same school encountered one another in any numbers. _I am making myself useful. I am not doing this because I am annoyed._

Finished with the wormwood, he started on some basil. 

“Do you mean to have a lifetime supply?” Dettlaff stepped into the room.

Regis jumped and cracked the mortar. 

“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.” 

“It’s quite alright. I find I have trouble focusing of late.” A pointed glare in the direction of the kitchen.

“You worry for him.” No need to mention a name.

“He never hesitates to throw himself headlong into danger, especially if it might protect someone he…” Regis sighed and set his tools aside, rubbing his hands clean on his apron. “I am responsible if anything should happen to him, here. And…I have come to depend on him, more than I should.”

“I have been meaning to ask; have you and your witcher fallen out? There is a tension between you. Unhappiness. It was not there, before.”

_My witcher._ It made Regis feel hollow. 

__

__

“We…I…My addiction. Somehow Geralt’s nearness exacerbates it. I am afraid I will attack him. I don’t know what else to do but stay away.” 

Dettlaff’s brows drew down over pale blue eyes hooded in thought.

“But you find you cannot distance yourself. If anything, you want to be closer to him.”

“Yes, that is precisely it. I can barely keep my hands off him as it is. I fear I may be going mad. I could not bear it, Dettlaff, if I ever hurt him.”

Dettlaff nodded, sage and a bit coy.

“How long has it been since you gave him your blood?”

“What?!” Regis gaped at him. “No! I have never….” 

The sudden memory of brewing Resonance, of Tesham Mutna, _of Geralt drinking that potion…which had contained…_

“Oh, shit.” He stumbled into the chair and sat down hard.

“You have given him your blood, freely. And, freely, he accepted it.” Dettlaff cocked his head, surprised that Regis hadn’t realized it. “He has a bond to you, now. Your instinct is to return it.”

“Which I would do by drinking…” Regis covered his mouth. “Which I will never do.”

A thought occurred to him, then. “Do…did you ever crave my blood? After all, our bond is such, as well.”

“No.” Dettlaff considered his answer before elaborating, “No two bonds are exactly alike, just as no vampire is exactly alike another. The relationship between individuals can influence it. And a bond may change and grow as a relationship does.” 

“As you and I were strangers to one another and I gave my blood freely with no expectation of return, our bond is stable as it is; one sided. I feel no pull to bind us further.”

“Geralt and I were not strangers…far from it.”

“No. Therefore, you may view this bond as incomplete. You crave his blood, not because of your addiction, though that no doubt complicates it for you, but because you desire to be bound to him. This is the essence of how a mate bond is formed.”

Regis felt giddy hearing it; mate bond. It was puzzle pieces falling into place. A return of sense and reason. Except…Geralt was no vampire. _Selfish of me._

“And if I refuse it? I was reckless and stupid not to realize that letting him drink my blood, even as a potion ingredient, might have dire consequences. I have done an unforgivable thing in binding him this far. I won’t…” He hid his face in his hands.

“It is your choice, of course. Blood bonds can be broken, although it damages those involved to do it. Losing a mate is a terrible thing, regardless of the reason. You will wound yourself, deeply so.” Dettlaff placed a large awkward hand on Regis’ shoulder and squeezed, a silent offer of support, before leaving. 

_What have I done?_

Herbs forgotten, Regis sat alone with his thoughts until dawn.


	20. Chapter 20

Geralt woke to a feeling of wrongness. The hangover, comparable to having a fully operational dwarven quarry blasting for fresh material inside his skull, made him groan. He rolled over and waited to see if he would puke. When that did not happen, he forced himself to stand up. To splash water on his face. To dress. Shuffling down to the kitchen to get some tea and maybe a bit of bread, he noticed Regis wasn’t at the table having a light brunch, as had his become habit. 

Something about that made him anxious; _was he forgetting something?_

Lambert was at the table, head down on his arms. He did not appear to have moved since last night. Early morning. Whenever the hell they had quit drinking and finally gone to bed. And Geralt knew, because the noise had awakened him, that Eskel was upstairs, snoring like a rock troll. 

Yen and Ciri had gone looking for magical reagents for some plan of Yen’s. And to spend time together. 

Dettlaff was outside ‘chopping’ firewood by rending it apart with his claws. He’d been ignoring them since last night. 

“Emiel?” Sabine breezed in and slammed the door. Both hungover men flinched. 

“What? Still sick? Poor babies. You made for a very tempting cocktail party last night.” She sighed, “I don’t know how Emiel resists. Speaking of my fool of a brother, is he around?”

“Said something last night about being close to a breakthrough. In the lab?” 

She headed deeper into the building, delighting in stomping and calling out, much to the agony of the indisposed witchers. 

“No.” She called back and continued looking.

Geralt frowned and tried to focus his thoughts past the pounding headache as he sipped his tea and waited to see if his stomach would accept it. Where else would Regis go? Their behavior last night could’ve been harder on him than he let on. _Shit. Need to find him. To apologize, if nothing else._

Tea staying down, Geralt hazarded a bite of bread. He wandered over to the lab as he nibbled, poking his head in the door to see if anything stood out. The alchemical journal Regis had been using to chart his progress sat on top of several open books surrounded by piles of ground herbs. At the back of the room, a glass bulb of liquid simmered into steam, slid down as condensation to reform in another bowl before flowing through glass pipes to drip into a funnel, and finally into a large beaker. The first filtration process. 

Geralt picked up the journal and flipped through; pages of formulas, ideas for the setup sketched out, hypotheses listed and scratched out, ingredients, observations and results. The last entry caught the witchers attention.

_Samples taken from the 15th site, blood, mucus, toxin- unknown, bone fragments, skin cells. Blood too contaminated to reveal further information. Cellular damage? Fragments, according to G, most likely result of body being rent apart. Lower vampire behavior? Mucus- unusable. Toxin- resembles the witcher brew known as Black Blood. Conduct comparisons. This forms the base, in fact. However, signs of additional toxin, mutagens? Source unknown. Accelerated coagulant. Samples used up for now. Need to acquire more._

Need to acquire….? Shit. The feeling of something being wrong shifted into cold stomach -cramping fear.

Geralt dropped the bread and took the stairs back to his room two at a time to get his armor and blades. His mad dash caught Sabine’s attention, and then Lambert’s.

“What is it?” 

“He went back down. Alone.” He tossed the journal to her.

“When? How long’s he been gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“I saw him go out, just after we finished that last bottle of vodka.” Lambert, knuckling sleep out of his eyes. “I didn’t know he hadn’t come back. Trouble?”

Geralt started to say he hoped not, but the fear was growing so instead he nodded. “Get Eskel and follow as soon as you’re able.”

“What, no confidence that the great Geralt of Rivia can handle this?” 

“You haven’t fucking seen what it does. He went alone. I’m not making the same mistake.”

He didn’t wait for the reply, but grabbed his kit of blade oils and potions and headed out.

Halfway back to the fifteenth house, which they had left under guard, Sabine caught up to him.

“He was there. Went in early this morning. They said he didn’t come back up.” Her expression was pinched. Apparently, she’d rushed ahead and queried the guards. 

_She’s worried._ Geralt knew because it was similar to the face Regis made when he was worried.

“You’re coming with, I take it?” 

“Yes.”

“Fantastic.” 

Sabine scowled at his sarcasm. “I don’t understand Emiel. He does not understand me. We don’t even like each other, most of the time. But he’s my blood. A human could never understand what that means to us.”

“So I’ve been told.”

The guards let them pass. They shoved the hidden door aside and headed down, following the very out of place aroma of wormwood and basil.

Geralt stopped and tossed back a Cat potion and another of Black Blood. He oiled the silver blade and doused the torch. Sabine’s claws elongated, her features sharpening, fangs peeking out from her lips. They stopped in the far room. The floor was spattered with blood. Fresh. 

“It’s his.”

Sabine blinked at him. “I know.” 

There were signs of fighting. Bright lines where claws had scraped, blood spatter, old debris freshly overturned like detritus after a storm. And a new break in one wall created an opening into more tunnels and caverns. It seemed deliberate.

And that sense of fear. No, not fear. Desperation. Regis.

“Sabine, wait!” Geralt looked around and realized she was no longer in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was ending at abt 28 chapters, but when I went back to edit a bit, I decided to break this chapter into 2. I think it helps the pacing and that'll put me at 29-30 chapters.


	21. Chapter 21

“It’s a trap!” He called after, hoping she hadn’t misted out of range yet. He picked his way carefully, checking his back trail, every corner, pausing for each noise. It was slow going, but somehow, he knew, Regis was still alive. 

_A vampire that is also a witcher. It’s clever. This is bait. He’s using Regis as bait._ Geralt ground his teeth; _stay in the moment, breathe, move, stay aware, ready to strike._ Vesemir’s voice came back to him through all the years of his training. 

_Trust your instincts._

He shielded himself just in time. A shadow flickered and the next thing he knew, he was flying backward to strike the wall. That he managed to keep a hold of his sword was a sheer bloody miracle. Quen shattered and he staggered sideways, narrowly avoiding a thrust of claws that left five deep holes punctured in the stone wall where he’d been. 

He caught a look at it. Hairless and dough pale, painfully skinny, blood red eyes with snake slit pupils. Not a scar on him. 

Sabine reappeared and struck at its knees; an attempt to cripple it. She fought smart this time, in and out fast as could be, never in the same place twice. Her shrieks forced it to slow at times. Geralt whipped his blade out and up, back and down, parry, pirouette, come back with a thrust. He struck it, and struck it again; it showed no more reaction than if he had been wielding a feather. The wounds sealed nearly as fast as he could inflict them. _We’re fucked._

Shouts echoed in the halls and a familiar red mist flooded in, swirling around the hybrid. Eskel, and Lambert, burst into the room right behind it. Surrounded, the hybrid misted and took off. 

“Have you found him?” Dettlaff reformed, voice lisping against his fangs.

“How many miles of tunnels are there down here?” Eskel eyed the new collapse that been opened. 

“Too many to search them all. Unless we…” Lambert was cut off.

“He’s this way.” Geralt headed off down one tunnel, unsure of how he knew.

Regis was curled in a shallow pool of bloody water. His eyes were solid black, and when Eskel brought the torch over, his veins were very nearly as dark. Body stiff, his mouth was opening and closing in wordless expressions of agony.

“Looks like that thing dosed him.” Eskel’s matter of fact tone belied the worried gleam in his eyes. 

Lambert shrugged, looking uncomfortable. Both witchers kept glancing around into the dark shadows around and behind them.

Sabine fell to her knees next to her brother. “Emiel? No, you can’t, you just can’t. Please? Emiel?”

The cracks in her voice made her sound so young. It grated on Geralt. _I agreed to help keep her out of this._

Dettlaff, like Sabine, knelt. He proceeded to check Regis for wounds, finding the deep gashes in the vampire’s leg that had bloodied the water around him. 

“He is not regenerating. The poison …If we cannot counteract it in the next minutes, he will be dead.”

_Counteract it._

“Sabine, go get that antidote he was working on and bring it back. Now!” 

She looked up, black eyes wet with tears. “It isn’t finished.” 

“Do it!”

She misted and was gone. 

“Can you buy him some time?” But Dettlaff was already nicking his thumb with a fang and letting his blood drip into the wounds on Regis’ leg.

“Lambert and me’ll keep a lookout. Don’t want that thing coming back around.”

Geralt jerked a nod of thanks.

Long tense moments past. Regis began thrashing, seizing under the clashing effects of the Black Blood and Dettlaff’s. 

It felt as if hours were crawling by.

Sabine finally returned, clutching the vial of liquid as if it were the greatest jewel in the world.

“It isn’t done filtering. It’s too toxic. If he were regenerating normally…We can’t…”

“I’m the filter.” And Geralt drank the antidote. 

“Are you certain that’s…” Eskel’s voice faded.

It hit like swallowing bitter cold glacial water in the dead of winter, despite still being warm. As soon as it took effect, he drew his dagger and cut open a vein. Sabine’s eyes went wide as she realized what he intended.

“Help me get him up.” 

She gently supported Regis’ head until Geralt could get behind him, holding his bleeding wrist to the prone vampire’s mouth.

Even then, as out of it as he was, Regis tried to fight it, mouth clamped shut, jerking his head away, black eyes frantic. 

“Regis, so help me, I will pinch your damned nose shut. It’s medicine, fucking drink it already.”

He still resisted. Geralt shot a desperate look to Dettlaff, who picked up on what he wanted. 

“Drink.” Dettlaff focused on Regis and the other vampire relaxed, mouth opening. “Drink.”

Geralt’s blood flowed in. He swallowed it, and again. Then he began to drink. Geralt shuddered and broke into a cold sweat; his body working to rid him of the toxins. Hopefully, it meant less was getting through to the mortally weakened Regis. 

Sabine started forward, licking her lips, mouth half open. Lambert leveled the point of his blade on her. Geralt didn’t have time to be unnerved; his whole world, all his awareness, was on one skinny, gray haired vampire in his arms, nursing from his wrist. 

Dettlaff stopped her with a motion before things could escalate further. For the first time, the witcher was grateful that there was a vampire who could control others.

“How’s he doing?” Geralt asked, “Is it helping?”

Dettlaff checked the wounds again. Gashes left by poisoned claws, open to the bone. Had missed the femoral artery, though. _Did vampires even have femoral arteries?_ Geralt wanted to laugh when he could not recall. _Lightheadedness is a sign of blood loss._ Vesemir’s training, again. He bit his tongue.

“No difference. He is not regenerating.” Frustration snarled though Dettlaff’s voice.

“Come on, Regis.” Geralt murmured into dirty wet gray streaked hair, aware of how still the vampire had gone. Too still.

“Wolf….” Eskel, always the calm one, the voice of reason. 

_No, not yet. I’m not giving up yet._

“Wait. Yes, there, it is working.” 

It might’ve made Geralts knees buckle if he hadn’t been on them already. 

Sabine sobbed out a breath and broke into weak watery laughter. She squeezed her half-brothers hand.

They all watched Regis’ leg begin to mend; far slower than it should have. His veins began to lighten.

Geralt was feeling the blood loss by then. But there was no way he was going to let up until….

He was vaguely aware of the room rolling sideways and Dettlaff lunging towards him to pry Regis’ mouth open. 

Then Lambert was holding pressure on his wrist while Eskel wrapped it and made him drink another elixir. His pulse lurched, sluggish and disjointed. 

“His toxicity has to be through the roof.”

“Careful, Lambert. People might get the impression you give a shit.” Geralt gritted his teeth and got to his feet, slowly, leaning on Eskel and the wall.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Safe to move him, yet?” Eskel jerked his chin towards Regis, who was still unconscious. “The longer we stay, the more time that thing has to come up with more fun and games for us.”

In the end, Dettlaff tossed Regis over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but they made it back to the surface and relative safety.

“No one will believe what you did.” Sabine spoke, just as they were parting ways. “A witcher, giving his blood for a vampire.” 

“He would have done the same for me.” 

“I know that, now. I suppose what I want to say is, truce?” She stuck out a hand. 

“Truce. For Regis.” And he shook. 

“Now, please go get that cleaned and looked after. Your blood smells delicious and I’ve had a very stressful day.” And just like that, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the process of editing my final chapters. Thanks for reading!


	22. Chapter 22

_“I don’t care! It was foolish and irresponsible.”_

_“I’m sure Geralt knew what he was..”_

_“Ciri, please take those things upstairs? I’ll be up in just a minute.”_

_“But he didn’t…”_

_“Cirilla!”_

_“Fine.” Ciri shot her foster father a sympathetic look and bundled up the supplies she and Yennefer had spent the day collecting. A few moments later, her boots thumped up the stairs._

_“What did you want me to do, Yen? Leave him to die?”_

_“That is hardly fair of you. I owe him at least as much as you do.” Her voice shook._

_“Then what are you so upset about?”_

_“If you do not understand that, after all these years, then I will never have any hope of explaining it now so that you do. It is his problem in any case. As are you, apparently.”_

_“Yen..”_

_Yennefer stormed out and slammed the door behind her, her footsteps echoed after Ciri’s._

All in all, it could have gone better. But, then again, it could have gone much, much worse. 

Geralt sat at the table closest to the fire, hands wrapped around a mug of Eskel’s coffee. It was black as pitch and almost as thick; the way soldiers, and witchers, brewed it to treat shock. It probably said something about how rough of shape he was in that it tasted wonderful. It had also chased off the last of his hangover. His bandaged wrist throbbed in time with his heartbeat as it healed. By tomorrow it would probably itch; eventually it would be gone, leaving only a thin scar. Regis was upstairs, safe, asleep. Or whatever vampires did to rest and regenerate. Dettlaff was with him. All they could do now was wait.

Lambert sat down across from him, taking a swig from his own mug, only to grimace and shudder as he swallowed. 

“Crap. I swear he makes this stronger every time.” 

Eskel, pretending he hadn’t heard, ladled out his own mug and joined them.

“Cheers, gentlemen.” They clinked mugs.

“So…” Lambert broke the silence. “Bound to a vampire, huh?”

Geralt sighed and rubbed his face. “Get it out of your system.”

“That must really suck for you. Get it? Suck…because…”

Geralt glared.

“Oh, come on. That was funny!”

Eskel groaned and shook his head before turning back to Geralt.

“Seriously, though. Are you alright? Maybe Yen or someone could undo it?”

“If it were any other vampire, I’d be the first one looking in to that. After the whole mess with Yen and the djinn…I guess it’s still a sore point for her. But I trust Regis. I don’t know what it means just yet, but I’m alright.”

“It means you’re officially the worst witcher, ever.” Lambert shook his head. “What the ever-loving fuck were you _thinking?”_

“That I didn’t want my friend to die.”

“Oh, right. It’s always a guardian complex with you, isn’t it?”

“Although,” Eskel said, changing the subject. “we should work more contracts together.”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be opposed. Was actually meaning to ask, since I’ve got the place in Toussaint, now.”

“Which, why haven’t I been invited, yet?” Lambert interrupted.

“As I was saying, since I’ve got it, I was thinking about opening a school.”

“Wait, what?!” Lamberts eyes narrowed dangerously. “You wouldn’t…!”

“Not a full witcher school; no mutations or any of that. Just some of the swordplay, the blade oils, how to track and identify different sorts of monsters. Which ones are dangerous and which ones aren’t.” He shrugged, suddenly self- conscious. “Like how we did for Ciri.”

Eskel rubbed his jaw and nodded, considering. Lambert had relaxed as soon as Geralt had clarified. 

“How is it there, work wise?”

“Plenty of contracts. Mostly small; nekkers in someone’s cellar, archespores in the vineyards. But that isn’t the real problem. Place is crawling with these idiot ‘knights-errant’. I spend more time pulling them out of trouble than I do anyone else.”

“Hence, your school idea.” Eskel sipped his coffee and nodded along.

“Yeah. Figure it’s a good pool of potential students. And there must be some others who would be interested. Maybe fix up more of the outbuildings, turn it into a regular campus.”

“What about Kaer Morhen?”

“What about it? Were any of us going back?” Lambert scowled.

“Nah. I winter south. Weather’s a lot nicer.” Eskel shook his head.

“I think we should make one last trip this winter. Take a total inventory, pack up or destroy everything. And I mean _everything_ ; check the sealed off rooms, too. All of it.”

“Good idea. Learned our lesson on witcher relics falling into the wrong hands. But what about the place itself? Seems like a waste.”

“That old heap of rubble won’t withstand another blizzard, much less an attack.” Lambert scoffed. “We got _very_ lucky against the Hunt, and that luck was mostly sorceress related.”

“Speak for yourself.” Eskel teased.

“I have an idea on that, but you won’t like it.” When Geralt had their attention again, he continued, “Dettlaff mentioned searching for an out of the way place to house his new pack.”

“Again, with the vampires.” 

“At least we know we can talk to this one, if we ever needed to get back in for any reason. Or, those trolls we encountered would love to have the ‘pretty rocksies, wouldn’t they, Lambert?”

“Alright. I guess I see your logic. But someone really needs to talk to you about not sleeping with the enemy. _Vampires!_ ” He shook his head. “Sorceresses? I get that. _But vampires?!_ By this rate, if you ever marry, it’ll be to a fucking foglet. Eskel, back me up, will you.”

“Hm. Can’t.” The eldest witcher shrugged and arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, no…. Not you, too?!” Lambert groaned.

“Lambert, where exactly do you think he spends his winters?” Geralt chuckled and shook his head.

“With a lady friend.” Eskel smirked a bit at Lambert’s confusion. “Who happens to be a succubus.”

“Unbelievable….” The younger witcher shook his head and went back to his coffee.

“That’s settled, then.”

They drank in silence for a while before Eskel spoke up.

“So, today. Was it just me, or was it, I don’t know, not reacting right?”

“I noticed that, too.” Geralt drummed his fingers on the table as he replayed the fight in his head, “It could have given us a real fight. Instead, it ran.”

“This vampire was young when they caught it…any idea on the age?”

“Notes didn’t say. You’re thinking it was just a child?”

“Fits with trying to make a witcher. It likes surprise attacks. Traps. The sure thing. Speaks to a lack of confidence.”

“So, what, its operating more on instinct and opportunity as opposed to any specific training?” Lambert put down his mug and leaned in. “If that’s the case, then why haven’t the vampires had any luck against it?”

“Vampires won’t kill each other. If they thought it might be one, they’d have hesitated. It’s self -taught off scraps of notes and old journals left by the madmen who created it. No socialization. It doesn’t.” 

“Today…it saw witchers and vampires working together. We don’t know what its association is to either group. But I would guess it’s not good.”

“You’re saying… _we scared it?”_

“Yeah, maybe. But as soon as it gets over that…”

“It’ll counterattack. And we need to be ready when that happens. Put it down for good.”

“Forgive me for interrupting.” Dettlaff’s soft- spoken tones made them all jump. No one had heard the vampire approach. “But-”

“Regis is awake.” Geralt finished.

Dettlaff inclined his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was fun writing the sibling dynamic between witchers. I headcanon that Eskel is about 6mos older than Geralt. {we know canonically they were classmates.} And that he's in a longterm open relationship with a succubus he goes to visit every winter. Lambert, I think, has a terrible sense of humor that ranges from utterly corny to very very dark with not a whole lot in between.
> 
> Thanks to everyone whose been reading this! The kudos and comments have been lovely!


	23. Chapter 23

Geralt didn’t bother to muffle his footsteps as he approached the room. The bed was empty, anyhow. 

A large huddled shape filled one corner of the room, ruddy light from the flickering lamp illuminating soft fur and delicate wings. Apparently, vampires healed faster in certain shapes than in others. 

“Hey. You feeling any better?”

The giant bat shuffled to face away from him.

“Regis, what is it?” He reached out to touch, only to have the vampire flinch away from him.

 _Hurt, regret, grief, guilt, dread._

It took Geralt a moment to work out that it wasn’t coming from him. He was picking up on Regis’ emotions. _I have been all along_. The realization stopped him in his tracks. He took a deep breath, reevaluating the events of the last weeks and months.

“I never wanted this for you.” It sounded deeper, rougher, than Regis’ ‘human’ speaking voice. And that odd sibilant twist as human speech was forced out of a fang- filled, stub- nosed bat muzzle. 

“Didn’t think to ask me what I wanted?”

“You can’t possibly understand what this means.”

“Maybe not. But I do understand what my alternatives were. Wasn’t about to watch you die again. It might’ve been for good, this time.” He closed the distance. 

Slowly, the vampire turned back around towards him, hunching down some more. _Hesitance? He’s trying to make himself look smaller…He thinks I’ll be revolted._

Geralt nearly laughed. After all these years, how could he ever have thought Regis was hard to read? It was all coming through loud and clear. But laughter would send the wrong message. 

Regis’ bat face peeped at him around the edge of a wing. A large upturned triangular nose. Brown fur shot through with gray. Large ears twitching to track things well outside the witcher’s hearing. And of course, all those needle- sharp fangs. 

Reaching out, Geralt caught the sides of that face. The fur was softer than he had expected; he curled his fingers into it. Then he looked directly into Regis’ familiar black eyes.

“I would make the same choice again. I’m not sorry.” 

There was a long pause as Regis considered what he had said.

“My reaction to your blood..? I will not put you in danger.”

“Dettlaff thinks this might have helped. Assuming that was your only reason for ending things. No time like the present to find out?”

Regis ducked his head once and Geralt stepped in close. He waited, a bit tense as the vampire sniffed and then nuzzled him, the soft folds of his nose wriggling up and down the side of Geralt’s face, over his hair, and against his neck. He fought not to flinch from ticklishness. Regis then very gently nipped at his jaw, long tongue flicking out to lick at the salty, stubbled skin. 

“Anything?”

Several minutes went by. Nothing happened.

“No. It is back to normal, which is to say, no worse than usual.”

A wave of feelings washed over the witcher then; _relief_ , followed by a rising sense of _want_ and _need_ , and _mine_.

Soft wings wrapped around him, pulling him close. Caught off balance, Geralt staggered against the large furry body. Another wave of desire hit him. It was getting hard to tell which one of them was the source of it.

“Seriously, Regis. Knock that off. Everyone is here; Yen and Ciri are right across the hall. Besides, we have things to talk about.”

A sharp snort, almost a sneeze, parted his hair just behind his ear. _Agreement._

“Yes. That we do.” Regis snuffled through his hair and snorted again.

“Quit it, that tickles!” Geralt dug his fingers into the soft fur of Regis’ flanks in retaliation. Which began a scuffle that ended when a table was knocked over, the lamp was nearly broken, and both of them were laughing.

“Sorry, we thought we heard…?” Ciri was in the doorway, one fist raised halfway to knock on the door frame; startled by the sight of her foster father engaged in a play fight with a large vampire bat. “…We just wanted to make sure you were alright?”

“Ah. They are engaging in bonding behavior. Fairly common among pack mates.” Dettlaff peered around the door frame behind her. “Regis, need I remind you to keep the roughhousing to a minimum. You are still injured.”

Regis flicked an ear and tucked his wings back against his body, contrite, though his black eyes still shone with mirth.

“And here I thought this family couldn’t get any weirder.” Ciri, shaking her head, turned and headed back to helping her foster mother. She smothered her grin before Yennefer saw her.

Dettlaff turned and went back downstairs.

Regis shifted gradually back to his ‘human’ form and they sat together on the edge of the bed. 

“I expect I have some explaining to do.” Regis started off, “I owe you an apology. I have behaved selfishly. But, you must know, I have never had a pack, much less a mate. I did not understand what was occurring and so I could not come to you to ask what you wanted to do about it.”

“Mate?” Geralt’s brows rose. 

“Ah, I’ve said too much too soon. There is a way to break it, I’m told. I will understand, of course, should you opt for that route.”

_Grief. Rejection._

Geralt rubbed his forehead. “Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Or can’t you tell how I’m feeling? I’m picking up on you easily enough.”

The vampire blinked. Cocked his head to one side and concentrated on it for a long moment.

“You are…not angry?” 

“No.”

“This is…unexpected. I thought for certain that...”

A rush of joy, so intense it almost hurt, had Geralt breathing deeply through his nose while all his other senses kicked into high alert as if a threat had presented itself. Vampires were supposedly more emotional creatures. He’d never had quite this perspective on it before now. 

“Is there a way to, I don’t know, control this? Could be distracting in the middle of a fight.”

“It takes some practice and more patience. According to Dettlaff, it should settle down of its own accord after a time. We are both…adjusting to each other. Given that you are not a vampire, the process might be more…well…unpredictable.”

“Oh. Good. Not enough going on as it was.” Geralt smiled as he said it, making the sarcastic humor obvious. And, also, because he felt like it. _Was this what people felt like when they went around laughing like idiots all the time? How many times had Dandelion tried to explain emotions to him? What was normal and what wasn’t? They were going to have to revisit that conversation sometime soon._

“Yes. And on that note, I believe more rest is in order.” Regis sighed and settled back into bed. “And Geralt? Thank you, for saving me. Not many would have.”

“Well, their loss then.” The witcher tucked the blanket up and pressed a kiss to the corner of Regis’ mouth. “We’ll get this shit sorted. I want to go home.”

“On that, we are agreed.”

Regis went back to sleep and Geralt headed back downstairs, both feeling far more optimistic than they had at the start of the day, despite the bumps and bruises and near-death experiences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp, seeing as how I survived thanksgiving and this yr wasnt that bad...have an extra chapter this week. This one struck me as being ooc. But editing didnt help and when I went back to look at some of my other fics, I apparently have this feeling at some point during all my longer fics? So, idk, maybe its me? Humans ofc can pack bond w pretty much anything. Vampires...might take a little bit more work on their end. (witchers are trained not to show emotion, so that might be harder to read) Dettlaff being Dad!laff...and Ciri being stuck between parents who are essentially divorced, which is awkward no matter what. Almost up to the final fight scene....hang in there and, as always, thanks for reading!


	24. Chapter 24

It was a gray chill afternoon when they all met back up in the kitchen to finalize their plan of attack. The threat of rain hung in the low clouds, hiding the mountains to the west. Everyone huddled close to the fire, mugs of hot tea in hand to fend off the cold. Everyone human, that was. The vampires hardly seemed to notice the change in temperature.

“We need to lure it to the surface.”

“Are you quite certain of that?”

“It doesn’t like light. It’s too familiar with all the tunnels underneath here.” Geralt crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “We need to put it off its guard. That means our choice of territory. Eskel and I found a good spot this morning on the other side of the sinkhole. Nice level field with room to fight and for Yen to cast her spells. Some of the caves exit not far from it.”

“So, we pick a route and convince it to follow. How do we keep it from escaping back underground once it figures out what we’re doing?” Ciri chewed her lip and looked around the room.

“That’s a good question.” Sabine agreed. “The minute it realizes you’re attacking, it can just fog and be gone.”

“Dettlaff, can you get a sense of this thing? Maybe try to force it to stay in one form, keep it from running?”

“I will do what I can. But I may not be able to do so for long. Its mind is…. strange to me. I tried before, when we searched out Regis. But I was unsuccessful.”

“Yen, how are you doing with that symbol?”

“I have determined that the original was not only perfectly executed, but may be the reason they were able to subject a vampire to the witchers mutagens at all. Regis is correct in his theory that higher vampire regenerative powers should have made the experiment impossible. But, by introducing an element of chaos into the mix, they were able to achieve an outcome other than what should have been.”

“Will undoing it help us any?”

“There is no point. That symbol was already used. There is nothing to ‘undo’. However, I may be able to make a new one.”

“Begging your pardon, but did you not also mention that this had been outlawed, with good reason? We have no desire to eradicate Icorime altogether. Nor ourselves with it.” Regis was seated at the table, drinking tea so piping hot that the steam blurred out his features every time he lifted it to sip. 

“If I adjust a few things, I believe I can manufacture a similar symbol to help trap the creature once it is lured to the correct position. If it works as I intend, it should resonate with the element of chaos present in this creature’s body, effectively neutralizing it. Render it ‘normal’ for a brief period. It would only last for a few seconds. One of you will have to kill it during that window.”

“You can do that?” Geralt’s brows rose.

“As I said, I may be able to. There is a slight chance that the spell will backfire.”

“Let me guess; that kills us all.”

“Well, at least that way, you two won’t be around to fight with each other about it.” Ciri quipped, although her eyes were troubled.

“We all knew this was going to be risky.” Eskel soothed. “Lambert and I can get to work on some bombs, link them to collapse the tunnels behind it on the way up.”

“Hey, won’t that put us in those same tunnels?” Lambert set down the sword he’d been sharpening.

“Talk less, run faster.” Eskel shrugged.

“How are we going to lure this thing anyway?”

“I’ll lure it.” Ciri’s resolute tones blended with several others, namely Geralt and Yen, yelling, “No.” all at once. 

“Absolutely not.” Yennefer made a cutting motion with her hand.

“No one else here is fast enough to keep ahead of it.” Ciri was adamant. “Eskel and Lambert need time to rig the tunnels and then to get clear. And Dettlaff might be able to draw it out all on his own, but we don’t know for sure. What if he can’t? What if he loses control of it? We won’t get another shot at this. I’m the only one who can do this.”

“No” Sabine stepped forward. “You’re not.”

Another round of naysaying, as Regis and Geralt tried to dissuade her. 

“I can go with the witchers into the tunnels. They won’t be able to set the bombs and defend themselves if it catches what they are doing.”

“Then I will go into the tunnels as well.” Regis settled back in his chair. “You cannot defend all of them and yourself. What’s more, if we help with the placement, we can get it done that much faster.”

“Fine. Then Dettlaff, myself, and Yennefer will set up on the surface to wait until you draw this thing up.”

“Eskel, Lambert, how long will it take you to get enough bombs put together?” 

“If the rest of you help? We can get it done tonight.”

“How will I know when you’re all set up?” Ciri asked.

“I’ll signal you. Magic. You’ll be sure not to mistake it.” Yen folded her arms across herself, still obviously unhappy about the risk Ciri was taking.

“Alright. Then it’s settled. We go just after sunrise. Be careful, everyone. And don’t forget to get an antidote from Regis, before you go. Let’s hope it’s clear tomorrow.”

They got to work.


	25. Chapter 25

Ciri shifted her weight, feeling the reassuring balance of the silver blade where it hung against her back. 

Lambert knelt, head ducked low into an alcove, as Eskel handed him the fuse connections, having finished with his own set across the way.

So far, everything was quiet. Which invariably meant, something was about to go wrong.

She worried her lip and glanced about. Regis and Sabine were back toward the tunnel mouth, laying lines of fuses where the paths connected back onto the caverns that eventually led down to the creature’s lair. They had set almost all the charges. Eskel carried the last pack, slung over his shoulder. As soon as they were finished, they’d head up to join Geralt and the others, while Ciri would head down to bait this thing into chasing her.

Lambert finished up and rose, dusting himself off. 

“Alright. Let’s get the last of these set up and get back outside. It’s getting claustrophobic in here.”

Ciri nodded. She turned to head forward when the sound of loose stones rattling stopped everyone in their tracks.

“What was that?” her whisper echoed louder than she had intended it to. “Please tell me one of you knocked those rocks loose. Lambert?”

“Pffft. Don’t look at me. Eskel’s the clumsy one.”

“Fuck you, Lambert. Also, it wasn’t me.”

Sabine was frowning, turning to check their back trial, when something grabbed her and threw her down the hall.

“It’s here! Move!” Eskel shoved at Lambert, who had hesitated, sword half drawn, as Ciri blurred past them and joined Regis and Sabine in the fighting. 

Shouts and the smell of blood rose in the rough stone tunnel as stealth was abandoned in favor of defense. Sabine was bleeding, her shoulder sliced by wicked claws. But the wound barely slowed her as the antidote Regis had made kept her from succumbing to the toxin and her own healing abilities kicked in. 

Seemingly surprised by the development, the creature redoubled its efforts to attack. 

Regis swirled around it in a fog, whirling back into shape to lash out before ghosting away again. Ciri dodged everywhere around and between them, her silver witcher’s blade even more of a blur than she was. Dark droplets and streaks of blood sprayed the walls and the floor. The creature healed as fast as they could inflict, it’s anger nearly a physical presence all its own.

Blades drawn, the two witchers scrambled to get the rest of the bombs in place.

“Ciri, light that fuse!” Lambert screamed, pointing to the far section. 

“Yen hasn’t sent her signal yet. They’re not ready!”

“Son of a bitch!” Eskel ground out, “We go now! Keep it busy and hope Yennefer can catch up!” He lunged past Ciri, letting her riposte shield him as he reached for the far fuse, sign of igni sparking from his fingertips. 

The fuse took, flame racing away into the darkness.


	26. Chapter 26

The ground rocked under their feet as the explosions went off; clouds of dust and a small avalanche of rocks spewed from the cave mouth. Dettlaff stood up, one hand shielding his eyes against the sun. Yennefer paused in her tracing of the design she had created into the earth.

“Geralt, I did not signal them!”

“Shit. Something’s gone wrong.”

“I see Cirilla and the other two witchers. I do not see Regis or his sister. Nor do I see the creature.”

“Shit!” Geralt was already running to see what he could do to help when something hit Ciri and sent her flying back to land hard. She stayed down too long, dazed.

“The creature is there!” Dettlaff was pointing.

“Thanks for stating the obvious.” Geralt growled, adjusting the direction he had been heading.

Lambert and Eskel were already on it. Lambert took it with diving tackle to its waist, knocking it off balance before he rolled up to his feet and cut three times fast before spinning away again. 

Eskel took his opening and hit it with Igni to the face to make it flinch and a deep stab to the belly before he likewise whirled away. Ciri had regained her feet, blurring past them to strike from behind. 

As the creature turned to track her, Lambert hit it with Aard. It flung an arm up over its face for an instant before realizing the sign did nothing. It went after Lambert. 

Eskel hit it from behind. 

Ciri moved across from Lambert. 

The three kept switching off, keeping it from focusing.

So far, they were holding. The sun was helping. Exposed to daylight for possibly the first time, the creature was swinging and missing, baleful red eyes screwed tight against the painful brilliance. 

_And unlike my torches, you can’t put this light out._

Dettlaff, half shifted, with claws elongated and at the ready, stood stock still, face a mask of concentration. 

_We can hold it._

Geralt downed another elixir, stepped into the opening Eskel left, and struck. 

_Yennefer can finish her symbol and we can hold it._

He saw Eskel toss back a potion before he jumped back into the fight, backhanding the creature savagely with the pommel of his sword when it lunged at a false opening he’d left it. Like Geralt, he had needed to refresh what they had drunk in preparation for this fight.

Lambert took a nasty cut to his hip and another to his jaw before Ciri could move to cover him. He dove and rolled away, reset his quen sign, and circled to get around behind. 

Geralt noticed the wounds beginning to close. _Good, his Swallow hasn’t worn off yet._

Little by little they were working the vampire hybrid towards Yennefer’s trap. It’s ragged scraps of clothing were stained now with blood, though it showed no sign of slowing. One step back. Then another. 

Yen had moved aside, tense and waiting. The trap was ready.

_We have to hold._

But where were Regis and Sabine?


	27. Chapter 27

Geralt felt the pressure against his shoulder. A searing lance of agony spread all the way from his neck down to his fingers. He watched the dirty bone yellow claws slide free.

_Shit. Hit a nerve. Guess Blizzard wore off._

Staggering, he brought his weight over his other leg. Shifted the grip on his sword to his left hand. Not as fast as his right. No choice now. His first thought was the same one he had every time he got injured. 

_Please don’t let the damage be permanent._

Followed by the second thought. _Worry about it later._

He circled, blocked, parried. Then rolled away. Out of range, he downed another Swallow to speed his healing. The stuff barely worked on him anymore.

Lambert went by, flung by one powerful strike. He did not get back up right away. 

They were losing ground.

The creature had caught on to their herding tactics.

Dettlaff was circling, trying to catch the its eyes. So far it had stayed in one form. But it was resisting now, cuts making more contact.

_If they couldn’t get it into that trap…._

Ciri sped past; silver blade slicing faster than the eye could track, spraying droplets of vampire oil laced with the dust of diamonds and pure silver. Her face was streaked with blood running from a scalp wound. 

The creature hissed and lashed out, but she was already out of range.

Eskel, one arm protected close to his stomach, was yelling taunts. He kept his point centered on it, drawing its attention away from Lambert as the younger witcher staggered back to his feet.

Geralt didn’t hear the vampires strike from the flank.

Dettlaff lunged forward all of a sudden and the creature was screaming as razor sharp claws sliced into it. Regis and Sabine reappeared and struck from the flank.

Hot blood spattered Geralt’s armor as he took the opportunity to step in close with a series of quick, well aimed cuts; feint, riposte, pirouette. 

His witcher brethren did the same.

They had it backing up now; one foot crossed the lines etched into the earth. Then another. 

Someone somewhere was yelling something. _The trap. Close the trap!_

Sabine’s shriek knocked it back another pace.

Geralt could hear Yen’s voice, low and powerful, chanting to seal the trap. The air smelled of dirt, blood, and magic.

She hit the crescendo, screaming the syllables to the sky.

For an agonizing moment, nothing happened.

Then the sky went dark, wind howling up out of nowhere to whip dirt and leaves into their eyes. The feel of static electricity rose around them; Geralt could feel it sparking against the ends of his hair. Everything seemed to drag, suspended in a weird slow motion swirling free fall, as though the very air had somehow taken on the consistency of cold molasses. The magic throbbed with enough energy to make Geralt’s skin itch and his ears buzz. Pressure ached behind his eyes. His vision was beginning to fade, tunneling out and distracting him with bright flecks of color.

The ground shook, the symbol flared a strange, dark sort of nonlight, and the creature lurched to a halt, shrieking in shock and rage. 

As one of the vampires, he couldn’t make out who, stepped in to finalize it, he stumbled back, dropping his blade. Taking measured breaths, he held himself together long enough to see the thing downed.

“That’s it. It’s dead.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes. It’s done.”

Yen’s voice, hoarse and wavering with exhaustion, chanted the last refrain and the final bit of magic she had added, at Regis’s advice, sparked white hot and began to burn the corpse up. She dropped to her knees, hair a wind whipped mess, blood running from her nose as well as all the nicks and cuts the maelstrom had left on her hands and face. 

“Never ask me to cast anything like that again.” She looked dazed. 

Ciri, panting, wiped the sweat and blood out of her eyes and sank down next to her. She leaned her head on Yen’s shoulder. 

It was over.

His legs felt weak. _Cold. Tired. Too old for this shit._

The throbbing pain in his shoulder was echoed by the ache building in his stomach. Sinking to his knees, he pitched forward, fingers digging into the earth. He was dimly aware of Regis rushing to his side, asking him something but it all droned together and made no sense…

“Geralt? He’s bleeding! Where are you hit? Geralt, can you hear me? It’s here, his shoulder, I think. Help me get him up. We need to get back, treat the wounded.” 

The ache in his stomach grew until it felt as though he had swallowed hot rocks. The pressure rose up …

He heaved, vomiting something dark across the dirt. _Blood._

Regis held him up, scooping the hair out of his eyes, supporting him as he retched, panted, and shuddered, the awful metallic acid taste burning through his sinuses and wringing tears from his eyes.

He couldn’t stop shaking, chill in the aftermath sunk so deep in his bones that he could feel the warmth of the sun only as a kind of abstract idea.

How many times had Yen scolded him? ‘You’ll kill yourself with those elixirs.”

The arsenal of potions witcher’s routinely used were known toxins. A witcher’s mutations gave them the fortitude to survive what would kill a normal person but even their grossly altered bodies could not withstand regular exposure or heavy usage and Geralt was guilty of both. 

He’d burned through the lining of his stomach and brought his toxicity level into lethal range. Not for the first time, although it had never been this bad. The result was this; a sick shivering witcher barely able to move.

As the muscle spasms set in, he felt the vampire lift him and carry him off. His last thought before he lost consciousness was that he was safe. Regis would take care of it.

Whatever it was.


	28. Chapter 28

It was dark when he woke up. A faint slit of moonlight glowed softly where the curtains didn’t quite meet over the window. A familiar form was next to him on the bed.

Careful not to disturb him, he crept out of the blankets and set his feet on the floor.

“Where do you think you are going?” Regis was awake in an instant and grabbing the witcher’s wrist.

_So much for trying to sneak past._

A flood of emotions hit Geralt through their blood bond. _Giddy relief. Worry. Overprotectiveness. Anxiety. A need for reassurance…,_

It was too much, too raw. Geralt winced and shook himself.

“Regis, seriously? I have to piss. I’ll be right back.”

“Ah, well then, I suppose that is allowable.” The vampire regained his composure and the bond faded back down. “Just be mindful. You are nowhere near ready to be back on your feet.”

Cautious and slow, aware of how weak he felt, he rose and shuffled toward the door, his bladder insisting.

The building was quiet. Somewhere outside he heard voices and music. People were celebrating. Vampires must have opened the gates again. Maybe this weird creepy town would get back on its feet, too. Geralt supposed he didn't care about it one way or another.

As soon as he returned, he crawled back into the warm pocket of blankets next to Regis.

_Another rush of relief and happiness and neediness and something else that dissolved into a sort of low warm hum of energy that flowed between them._

Turning, he snuggled closer, burying his face against Regis’ chest, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder as he changed position. The bandages pinched as he wrapped his arms around the vampire’s waist.

Regis nuzzled against Geralt’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent.

“Since you’re awake, how are you feeling?”

“Mm. Good. Warm. Just…. tired. A bit like I’m drifting.”

“Yes. Blood loss, combined with systematically poisoning yourself, and quite a lot of painkillers, will tend to do that.”

“Painkillers…that’s what it is. Wondered what was different. It’s nice. Nothing hurts. Don’t remember the last time nothing hurt.” His words slurred a little, muffled into the fabric of Regis’ shirt.

“I didn’t realize.” Long fingers carded through Geralt’s hair. “You were shaking so badly; you could not be still long enough for me to stitch up your wounds. Yennefer suggested putting you under. She gave you a dose that would have knocked out a horse, which is hardly something to make a habit of. You’ve slept for quite some time. I’ve been…what’s that human expression? Worried sick?”

“Feel like I could sleep for a week at least.”

“Good. Because rest is precisely what you should be getting. You gave us all a terrible fright. Geralt, your healing is much faster than a human’s. Now that we are bound, you may be able to draw from me to accelerate it even further, but it is imperative that you avoid usage of those potions of yours. For the next six months, at least. I would prefer a year or longer.”

“Regis, did everyone get out alright? I was pretty out of it…”

“Yes. Not to worry. Injuries all around; most serious, none quite as life threatening as yours. I narrowly escaped having to write to my half-sister’s father to tell him she had been in a tunnel collapse that we had orchestrated and would be out regenerating for the next several years. He would have made certain my next regeneration took even longer.”

“Dettlaff is grouchy and stressed from the strain of my drawing on him to aid in my regeneration and now yours. He wants to get back to his pack as soon as may be possible.”

“Your witcher’s are now proudly comparing new scars and scratching at their stitches, despite the many times they’ve been instructed not to. Lady Yennefer has already said her farewells and left. As has your Cirilla, although she mentioned catching up with you back at the house sometime soon. I assume she means Corvo Bianco.”

“Oh, and there’s to be a trial of sorts, but I can tell you more about that when you are feeling up to it. Does that about sum it up for you?”

“Mhm.” Geralt was relieved to hear it. _Didn’t lose anyone this time._

Which brought him to his next question.

“Well, what happens to us now?”

Regis sighed, followed by a long silence that made Geralt frown in anticipation of disappointment.

“Geralt…I cannot begin to explain how much your support has meant these past months. How much you mean. Words simply fail, in your language and mine. But, if this… if _we_ are to be together, then I need you to understand; I will always be an addict. I cannot promise, despite my best efforts, that the more vicious parts of my nature wont surface again from time to time. I cannot promise you won’t get hurt.”

“Mhm. I know.”

Geralt stroked his hands up and down Regis’ back, having relaxed upon hearing the first bit, relishing the warmth through the thin fabric.

“Are you even listening to me?” _Exasperation. And…distraction. Regis was having trouble focusing on anything save the feel of Geralt’s hands._ Which only made Geralt want to do it more.

“Mm.”

A light kiss against Regis’ throat, and the witcher’s hands were working up under his shirt; calloused finger pads tracing lines over soft skin and muscle from the waistband of the vampire’s leggings up to his shoulder blades and back down again…

“You are awfully single minded when you want something.” Ticklish and shuddering, Regis twisted to grab at Geralt’s wrists to get him to stop. “If you think for moment that I would allow you to exert yourself after all this, you are sorely mista-”

Geralt broke off the well -intended scolding with a kiss; languid and almost playful. Words dissolved into a soft moan and then Regis was kissing him back. For all the complaining, Geralt could feel every reaction the vampire was having to their closeness. He traced the sharp points of fangs with the tip of his tongue and swallowed the desperate groan that rose from Regis’ chest. He felt the prick of long nails against his back where the vampire’s hands curled to draw him closer.

They hadn’t been together since their separation back in Beauclair; not counting that time on the bathroom floor. And he didn’t count that, not really. Not much time to talk, no time alone. Now that everything else had settled for the time being, it was time to settle this; what was the full nature of their bond now?

“I wouldn’t have to ‘exert’ myself so much if you would quit lecturing and fuck me.” He teased as he rolled to kneel over the vampire’s legs, shifting Regis to his back as he did so.

Regis huffed as if he were annoyed and let Geralt have control, hands bracing the witcher’s hips to use him as a counterweight when he sat up. They paused like that, face to face, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“…Geralt. I…” A wave of emotion rushed from Regis’ control and left the witcher gasping. He had no words for what this was between them. He didn’t need them. _He knew._ He had felt it before. But words didn’t work where feelings were concerned.

Humans said one thing and did something else. The Baron had insisted he loved his wife while abusing her at every turn. Margaret had claimed to love Niellen while setting her sister up to die out of jealousy and leaving devastation in her wake. Emhyr claimed to love Ciri and wanted to repair their familial ties, but manipulated her for his own ends to save face with his people.  
Humans used the word _love_ to describe the actions of hate, disdain, abuse, selfishness, and ownership all the time. Even Dandelion, as verbose and skilled with words as anyone, employed it to describe everything from infatuation to outright lust and used it to excuse some of his worst behaviors.

Humans contradicted themselves at every turn.

Geralt didn’t want contradiction. His actions were based on his feelings and he saw no point in wasting his breath on words.

Yen, and then Triss, had wanted the words, deaf to his actions. He was exhausted by the attempts to translate actions to feelings to words and back again only to be misunderstood anyway.

“I know it, Regis. I know.” He murmured against the vampire’s lips.

“Please, let me say it.” Regis caught his face and held him. “I love you.”

Geralt released the breath he’d been holding. He leaned in until his forehead was resting against Regis’. He focused on the emotion radiating from the vampire, studying it, absorbing it, and letting his own feelings rush back through their bond. He wasn’t certain it would work. Witcher’s weren’t supposed to feel anything. He knew that was a lie, but Regis’ emotions were so intense; his must be muted in comparison.

He knew the moment he succeeded; Regis’ breath caught, and a surge of triumphant joy came back to him.

“I love you, too.” He said the words anyway. _Just in case._

The rest of the night dissolved into sighs and groans, as they abandoned words for actions.


	29. Chapter 29

Geralt, Dettlaff, Regis, and Sabine, stood before the tribunal of vampire elders, awaiting their verdict. They had been expecting the summons for days. Now, they had been waiting for hours.

 _A trial of sorts_. That was what Regis had called it. Funny how he hadn’t mentioned their lives were in the balance. Odd that he had been able to hide any worry he might have felt over it. Geralt reached to shift his shirt collar away from his neck again. Regis took his hand to stop his fidgeting but didn’t let go again. 

“We have deliberated. As you all know, we had two serious matters to consider. For one vampire to kill another is our most serious offense. While this creature posed a terrible threat to our city, and took many lives, we must still hold to our laws.” 

“After much argument, we have weighed the evidence and come to decide in the first matter; that while this creature may have started as one of ours before it was grossly altered, it was subverted by an order of mutant killers and made into one of them. Therefore, we do not consider it to have been vampire kind. You have done no fatal harm to your own and none of you shall be rendered anathema.

The tall vampire leader, dressed again in red, black, and silver, remained standing after her pronouncement, staring at Geralt. _If looks could kill I’d be in serious trouble._

Regis’ shoulders relaxed and he squeezed Geralts hand. On the witcher’s other side, the tension similarly left Sabine and Dettlaff.

Another vampire, this one an older male to her left, stood at her gesture and took over speaking.

“On the second matter; of the formal request for blood kin status recognition. A witcher, one Geralt of Rivia, is known to have shared blood with a vampire, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. Witnesses have signed and sealed. Thus, he is hereby considered blood kin to all those with whom Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy also shares blood. By our own laws, he may not be killed by vampire kind.”

The vampire who had spoken sat back down with a sour expression, jaw clenched, as if having to speak those words had caused him physical pain. 

Perhaps it had. There was something familiar about that one. Geralt wondered if they had crossed paths before this. _Did I, or another, put you in the ground once upon a time?_

Whatever it was, Regis was feeling very self-satisfied about the decisions. Almost…triumphant. Geralt glanced at him, curious, but Regis only squeezed his hand again. 

The ending rituals and formalities were seen to, and they were all dismissed. Geralt got his answer as they were filing back out into the hallway.

“Junior!”

They turned to see the older male vampire striding down the hall towards them, glower aimed at Regis.

 _Junior?!_ Geralt mouthed the word in confusion. And then suddenly it clicked. _Regis’ father. Regis had requested the status recognition knowing his father would be forced to read it. His father who wanted to kill him because he was a witcher….No wonder he looks familiar._

_Regis, you little shit, you could have warned me._

Regis straightened his satchel and brushed an imaginary speck of dirt off his shoulder. 

“Hello, father. Imagine meeting you here. Quite the surprise. I had no idea you had gone into politics.”

“Be quiet, Emiel. My only son pretending to be human wasn’t embarrassment enough. You had to humiliate me in front of my colleagues. Now you are running around with witchers? You’ll be killing your own kind next. And just who are these?” He pointed rudely at Dettlaff, who stood stoically and ignored it, and Sabine, who arched an eyebrow and did not.

“We’ve met before, though I was still a young child. I’m Sabine, Nadetta’s daughter?” She stuck out a hand. 

“Ah, of course, where are my manners?” Regis gave them all a proper introduction, going so far as to use everyone’s full, formal names. 

“May I present to you all, Emiel Stephan Terzieff-Godefroy, my father. Who was just about to enlighten us as to why he has stopped us in the hall outside the council chambers moments after we were asked to leave. Or hadn’t you worked out how to murder Geralt with me standing right here, just yet?”

The elder vampire snarled and drew himself up as if he were about to do that very thing. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

Now that he had a closer look, Geralt had the impression of something feral seething just underneath the veneer of civility. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He understood then that had they not been in public, this encounter would have gone differently. Bloodily.

“I know all about your little plan, father.” Regis grinned then, all teeth. It was not a friendly expression. “If you’re going to try and play politics here, perhaps you should attempt some subtlety.” 

Behind him, Geralt spied the tall willowy figure of the vampire leader turning back to look at them again. 

_We should leave._

“You’re related to this? I don’t see it.” Geralt turned and offered Regis his arm.

They left Emiel Sr, gnashing his fangs and struggling to find some way he could express his outrage without getting himself in trouble. 

“Are you done amusing yourself at our expense?” Geralt murmured as they walked toward the exit. “Or did you really think he was going to try and kill me?”

“I thought it was quite well done.” Regis tilted his head in mock offense. “You have Dettlaff to thank for the rest. We both do. While you were recuperating, he was here, keeping an ear to ground, so to speak. And he happened to overhear my father trying to stir up a group of would be witcher hunters in a tavern a few nights ago.”

“It was not hard to overhear. He asked me to join.” Dettlaff looked embarrassed to be the center of attention.

“We held a few deliberations of our own, and Regis decided to make the announcement formal, so he would have to abide by it.” Sabine grinned. “Welcome to the family.”

“The witcher is correct, however.” Dettlaff added, “Now that I have met him, I really see no resemblance.”

Regis grinned again, radiating so much happiness, that Geralt physically hurt at the thought that he would soon have to go back to reminding Regis to cover his fangs when he smiled.

“On another matter,” Dettlaff hesitated a moment before continuing, “The lady in charge here has a rather rare eye color, does she not? Puts me in mind of the Zerrikanian Merlot that Orianna likes so well. In fact, I’ve only seen one other with eyes that shade.”

Regis sobered.

“Yes. And you should say no more about that, here.”

Geralt felt he could not see the last of this place soon enough. They hastened their pace to the gates. 

It was time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Some headcanons: it took me ages to come up w names for Regis' parents. (lol. I'm almost as bad as at naming things as Geralt is) I decided that, given that their population is limited on 'planet witcher', post conjunction vampire naming conventions might have changed to more clearly reflect both parents. So Regis' full name includes both his moms family name and his fathers, etc. The current faceclaim I'm using for Emiel sr is Jeff Bridges (w the long hair & beard)
> 
> Regis formalizing his blood tie is just self indulgent fluff on my part. Are Geralt's problems w higher vampires over?....most definitely not. Their laws say they can't directly kill one another. Anything and everything up to that line would still be fair game. Many of them would probably be resentful of a witcher being granted inclusion, however honorary. I also think they could manipulate others into doing their dirty work in a lot of situations. So, he may be protected in some instances, but he'd be targeted, too.
> 
> Also, imo, We Can Hurt Together by Sia is a great Regis/Geralt song.
> 
> Last But Not Least:
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who read this all the way thru, who left kudos, and especially to those who left comments! It was a lot of fun to write and I'm coming away with a much clearer picture of my strengths and weaknesses as writer.


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